Beauty Lies Within
by Mystic Lady Fae
Summary: Beauty and the Beast crossover: A young woman's father and uncle buy the rebuilt Populaire, not knowing the Ghost still dwells there. When they are unable to pay the Ghost's salary, guess who is taken in its stead?
1. Family

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers). See?

AN: Okay, here is my newest story! Before I get any flames, I'd like to say that my female lead is **_not_** (I repeat, **_not_**) a Mary Sue! If she appears to be, I'm sorry: she's merely a girl that, unlike most women in Phantom stories that I've read, has no artistic talents at all. She's the odd-duck of the family, but that's all. I mean, someone out there probably understands that, right? So, anyway, here's the story, and please review when you're done reading. Thanks!

**Chapter 1: Family:**

The shrill warning cry of one of our serving boys filled the air outside my window, cutting through the cold winter sky and jolting me from my peaceful thoughts. I winced and sighed at the sound before setting aside my pen and closing my workbook. The rattling of arriving carriages soon could be heard, and I smiled as I rose from my desk, shaking the wrinkles out of my green gown as I headed out of my rooms and into the hallway.

"Miss Aria, hurry!" a maid cried up the stairs. "Please, Miss Craven, the family is arriving, and you must be there to greet them as they came inside!"

If this had been any other house in England, my mother would be greeting our guests at the door instead of me. However, my immediate family was an exception to that tradition, as my mother was no longer with us. She was not dead, but she might as well be, as far as my Grandmother Caroline was concerned, since it was ten years ago that my mother had given my father the shock of a lifetime.

One night, my mother stalked up to my father and declared that she wanted a legal separation from him. Not only that, but she desired custody of my little brother, Paul, and wanted to move to America, since it was in the New World that Mother's family had set up their fortunes. What also became clear was that Mother had gotten fed up with my father for reasons that she wouldn't name in front of anyone but him. I had always thought that my parents had loved one another, though I'd been told that their marriage had been one of convenience; still, they had seemed happy, and my brother and I had enjoyed loving childhoods with them until that fateful day.

I had been 14-years-old at the time, and was considered "grown-up" enough to listen to the servants explain things to me. Poor Paul was only 8-years old and couldn't really understand what was happening, though I didn't even try to tell him. Through the servants' gossip, I discovered that Mother had grown tired of Papa's relations always visiting us and "intruding" on our house; she wanted a new life of her own elsewhere, as well as the means providing for it. The horrid thing was that she wanted Paul, and Paul alone, to go with her.

The servants told me that Mother only wanted Paul because he was a primary heir to a section of the family fortunes; she didn't want me, the daughter who was going to be very much dependant on my father until I married. If I _didn't_ marry, however, I would get my own personal fortune and also be provided for by my grandparents. Paul, however, would inherit a majority of the Craven family money after my father's death, and my mother very much wanted a hand in it.

Fortunately, Mother didn't understand the marriage laws very well; since she only wanted a "_separation_" instead of a divorce, she would have no say in governing my brother's accounts, neither his personal funds nor the ones he was to inherit. All of that money was firmly left in the hands of some very good lawyer-friends of my father's, both English and American. Instead, Mother now had to make-do with the annual sum my father sent for both her welfare and Paul's, though Papa always made sure that Paul secretly got a little extra spending money.

Now my Papa had only me to stay with him in our large English home, though my grandmother, grandfather, and Papa's siblings always paid a monthly visit to our house. Ours was a large family, consisting of my father's younger brother and five younger sisters, plus all of their spouses and children. All of us together totaled 28, though if my mother and brother were included, it would be an even 30 of us. The number of family members isn't really unusual amongst aristocrats, though it was odd that Grandmother had borne seven children and all of them lived.

My father, Roland, was the eldest in his family, followed closely by his brother, Gregory, and his five sisters: Christina (or Aunt Chris, since she hated her full name), Elizabeth (Beth), Monica, Nancy, and Mary. My grandparents were all proud of their children, but most particularly so of the fact that none of the children looked much like the other. For instance, Father had red hair while Uncle Gregory had straight dark brown. Also, none of my aunts had hair with the same color or textures. Aunt Chris had straight mousy-brown locks while Aunt Beth had wavy, lighter brown hair than Uncle Gregory. Aunt Monica had curls in her chocolate locks, Aunt Nancy had lovely golden-blonde hair, and Aunt Mary had hair that could be either curled or straight, depending on whether or not she put her hair into a tight braid the night before. All of them were lovely, though, and I envied them for that.

My cousins could form a small army and invade a country, if they chose, just using their screaming alone. Too many to name, much less think about, but they all looked so much alike, one wondered if their parents really sired them or not. The reason for this is that each of them, with only four exceptions, had been born with Grandmother's blond hair, with either blue or blue-gray eyes. Only I, my brother, and Aunt Chris' two daughters were given dark hair and eyes.

Heading down the hall, I sighed with envy as I caught sight of myself in a mirror. At 24 years of age, I had straight, dark-brown hair, brown eyes, and an annoying tendency to freckle. I wasn't very tall, either, but then, neither were my aunts, so I didn't feel too upset about that. My figure was a bit lacking, though; no matter how much my maids tightened the laces on my corset, I could never get as slim as the other girls in town. Papa said that I had my mother's curves, and that it had been Mother's curves that made him so fond of her; I'm still not sure if that was a compliment or if he was just humoring me.

"Aria, Aria, Aria!" cried several childish voices as they ran inside.

Rolling my eyes in amusement, I hurried down the stairs, arriving in the entry hall just as the littlest blonde darlings shed their winter clothes. Upon seeing me, they immediately latched on to my skirts and begged to be the first to tell me about their latest achievements. I gave them a humoring smile before pointing out that cookies and hot chocolate were waiting for them in the nursery we always had waiting, right next to the parlor.

To my relief, they all ran off, leaving me, the eldest of all the grandchildren, to greet the other cousins and adults. The cousins too old to be in the nursery tended to either watch over the younger ones or, if they were fully-grown, joined their parents in the parlor. I distributed hugs, kisses, and smiles to everyone, but when Grandmother Caroline and Grandfather Gino made their grand entrance, I paid particular attention to them, as they always arrived last.

"Aria, sweetness," Grandmother cooed as she hugged me through her layers of fur coats.

"It's good to see you, my beautiful one," Grandfather said, his voice enriched by his Italian accent.

My petite, blonde Grandmother was exceedingly proud of the fact that a tall, dark, and handsome man, descended from a wealthy family in Italy, had chosen _her_ for a bride. In my heart, I knew that their love was truly something to be made into legend; just the way they looked at each other tended to make observers blush. I smiled and kissed them both before ushering them inside and signaling the servant to close the door. The parlor was now full of gossip, laughter, jokes, and idle chatter.

I entered the parlor just before a long line of maids brought in trays of tea, cookies, cake, and sandwiches. Taking a place next to my Aunt Mary, who greeted me with a smile and a kiss, I waited as the maids poured the tea and offered food to everyone while talk filled the air. Once everyone was served, there was a moment of quiet as everyone waited for Grandmother to pick a conversation topic.

"Well, now, Christina, how goes your painting?" Grandmother asked as she sipped her tea.

I inwardly winced at the topic and looked at my lap. Our family's idle hobbies tended to make eyebrows lift and people talk about us behind our backs. This is because, unlike most of the English aristocracy, much of our family was directly involved in the arts. The Cravens did not just _fund_ artistic talents; the family was a _swarm_ of artistic talent spanning three generations!

Glancing around the room, my eyes landed on relatives who were painters, sculptors, instrumentalists, and even ballet dancers. Grandmother herself painted murals, and her special talents graced the walls of not only her mansion, but those of her children as well. Aunt Chris took after her, as did her two daughters, Eana and Marita. Ever the artistic one, Aunt Chris had chosen beautiful, but unusual, names for her daughters, and both girls had the talent to paint, draw, and play the cello.

"It's going very well, for all of us Mother," Aunt Chris replied with a smile towards her daughters.

"Good, good," Grandmother said before turning her gaze to my Aunt Mary.

Biting back a groan, I carefully reached out and picked up a sandwich, tears prickling my eyes. My Aunt Mary, besides being lovely, had the talent of playing the flute quite beautifully, and even did so very publicly. She played for her friends at their parties and concerts, and was even occasionally in the orchestra of the local theater. As I put the sandwich to my lips, I quietly turned my attention elsewhere, for I knew that it would be a while before Grandmother's attention landed on me.

Unlike the others in my family, I had no artistic talents. Papa could paint and sculpt, but I had none of his abilities. Nor could I dance, draw, or play an instrument, though Father had tried to get me involved in the piano. I was average, at best, so I merely gave up when I was 12-years-old, bemoaning how ironic it was that my name meant "song" or "music." My governesses had tried to teach me painting, but all of my works looked lumpy or oozed paint when finished. Finally, when I was 14, I declared myself hopeless in the arts and gave up on all of it…except for one…

"And Aria," Grandmother said, smiling at me fondly. "How goes your writing?"

I blushed. "It is well, Grandmother," I said, ducking my head.

"Oh, why don't you fetch your newest story for the children?" Aunt Nancy said. "Grace has been waiting for you to finish it for so long!"

Nearly preening at the compliment, I smiled. "I have the story finished upstairs," I said, glancing carefully at my grandmother for permission. "Shall I go fetch it?"

Our family matriarch nodded and I slowly stood up, remembering to be lady-like as I walked out into the hallway and up towards my room. If there was one thing Caroline Craven disliked, it was her daughters or granddaughters not being the graceful ladies she knew them to be.

As I slipped into my room, I found the sought-after book on my desk. I had finished it just last week, though only every other page was filled with the written word. The blank pages were for one of my numerous relatives to fill with watercolors, chalk, or pencil drawings. I felt ashamed that I couldn't illustrate my works, but I had to count myself fortunate that I could at least write a good story.

"Well, Grandmother said that no one in the family has been able to write since her father's time," I muttered, looking at the brown leather cover. "I _would_ like to be able to draw, though."

A warm chuckle from the doorway drew my gaze there. In the doorway stood my papa, a proud look in his eyes as he saw what I was holding. Smiling, he came over and pulled me into a warm hug.

"Don't worry over such things, kitten," Papa murmured into my hair as he hugged me. "You write wonderful things for your little cousins, and as long as _someone_ appreciates your work, even if it is just you, that's all that matters."

I sniffed into his black coat. "I still want to be able to do _something_ beautiful, Papa," I said, closing my eyes as he patted my back. "I want to paint the sunrise or draw the flowers in the garden. I want to draw the images _I_ see in my stories so that others can see as I do."

Papa sighed and hugged me closer. "I know, dearest, but sometimes these things just…skip a person or two in a family." He gently pulled back and looked at me, his blue eyes meeting my brown ones. "And what you do **_is_** beautiful, just in a different and better way. You describe what you see and imagine, but unlike a painting, it allows others to see what they _want_ to see, not just what you want them to. It gives your readers the ability to use their minds and their imaginations, not just their eyes."

A warm feeling spread through me, just like it always did whenever my father tried to cheer my thoughts. "Thank you, Papa," I said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"That's my girl!" he declared. "Now get downstairs; you cousins are clamoring for your latest story and are getting a bit cranky. What is it about this time; rabbits, ducklings, or horses?"

Laughing, I shook my head. "Little fox cubs," I answered.

"Ah, of course," Papa said with a wink. "Why didn't I think of that? No doubt your grandmother will want to illustrate that one herself; you know she loves foxes, since that's what our last name means."

"Yes, I know."

If there was one thing Grandmother loved in nature, it was the fox. Instead of hunting them as most nobles did, she went searching for them to keep as pets. A large section of her estate was fenced off, completely dedicated to the well-being of the clever creatures. She even gave out the fox cubs her vixens bore to my aunts and uncles to keep as pets, which they did more out of obligation to her than anything else. We didn't have one, though, since Father tended to sneeze around them.

Papa shook his head and beamed proudly at me. "Well, off with you, then," he said. "I only came looking for you because the little ones have been squealing for you since they arrived."

Laughing, I quickly turned and obeyed, heading down for the nursery. Upon opening the door, I couldn't help but smile at the sight. Six little blonde heads turned towards me at once, and the clatter of dropped toys filled the room just as excited screams escaped from small mouths.

"Aria!" Grace cried as she ran up to me, begging to be picked up and held.

Most of the little ones' nurses and parents had stopped holding them long ago, but they knew that I was willing to indulge them once and a while, though only when they were small and light. With Grace being not even four-years-old, she was still "of age" to be held, and took advantage of the fact as often as she could. The others, however, had grown, and knew that the chance of being held was slim, at best.

Grinning, I handed my book to Andrea, who, at age twelve, was one of the cousins too old for the nursery, but too young to be with the adults. She accepted it with a grin and walked over to the center of the room, which had a chair and a dozen cushions on the floor. Picking up Grace, I walked over to the chair as well, the other children following behind me. I quickly sat down, Grace in my lap as the others playfully argued over seats before settling down. Once it was quiet, I took the book from Andrea and looked over at the children.

"Remember, this particular story goes to Grace when today is done," I stated, preventing any squabbles before they could start. "It's her turn, and you've all got your books already."

"Who will draw in my book?" Grace asked, her voice tiny as she laid her blonde head on my shoulder.

"I think that Grandmama would like to do this one, don't you?" I said with a smile. "Now, today's story is about a curious little fox cub and his friends."

The children cheered and prepared to listen.

* * *

Wrapped in a warm cloak, I watched as the last carriage disappeared around the curve of the drive. Grandmother had the book safely in her possession and would deliver it to my Aunt Nancy and Grace before the month was out. Meanwhile, I was sure that Grace would be pleading for it every hour till then. Chuckling, I went inside and removed the cloak, handing it to Hilda to hang up. 

I yawned as I walked into the dining room for a warm supper, thankful that none of the family ever stayed for supper; the table would never fit them all and the children would be sure to wreck the place before the evening was over.

"Oh, my poor daughter," Papa teased as I sat down to enjoy a helping of roast beef, potatoes, and green beans. "You must be exhausted from looking after the little cousins." He looked me over carefully. "Would a trip to the next play in town be helpful?"

My fork stopped in midair. "You mean the next Shakespearian play?" I asked in an eager voice while setting my fork back onto my plate.

He nodded. "I know how much you love listening to music and watching plays, so I purchased tickets just last night," Papa replied with a smile. "You deserve it, after all the work you do as hostess to the family visits. A night of just the two of us would do you good, don't you think?"

I leapt from my chair and wrapped my father in a hug. "Oh, thank you, Papa!" I gasped.

He merely chuckled and patted me on the back. "Now, eat your dinner before Cook gets offended."

Quickly obeying, I happily ate the rest of my meal, waiting anxiously for tomorrow to come.

* * *

AN: Well, what do you think of the Craven family? Quite a zoo, isn't it? Sorry, Erik and the Populaire won't be appearing until the next chapter, but please leave a review! 


	2. Surprises All Around

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Thanks for all the reviews! Here's chapter two. I hope that people will enjoy reading this and will continue to review! Thanks!

**Chapter 2: Surprises All Around:**

The night at the theater was precisely what I needed to relax. I had always been awed by the art, the people, and the performers at the theater, all of it coming together to form one perfect evening. The crystals on the chandeliers sparkled above us as Papa led me inside, me happily beaming in my new blue-and-white evening dress, a blue cloak around my shoulders to keep me warm. A doorman took my cloak and I was allowed to mingle with the crowd, alone, my eyes searching for anyone I knew.

"Aria!" a voice said to my left.

Turning around, I spotted the sister-in-law of my Aunt Chris. Her name was also Caroline, and she was a middle-aged, dark-haired beauty; however, unlike other women in her class, she was unmarried and had no desire to be. She came from a wealthy family, though, and they had left her a sizeable fortune after her brother (my Aunt Chris's husband) received his share of the wealth. Even though we weren't related by blood, Carol (as she asked me to call her) was always very friendly and always made me laugh.

"Oh, Carol!" I said, reaching out to grasp her hands. "It's so good to see you!"

She laughed. "Another night to relax yourself?" Carol asked, winking at me. "Did your family visit yesterday?" I nodded. "Well, how is your dear Aunt Chris?"

"She's very well," I replied. "She's working on another art piece with her daughters, and Grandmother wanted to know all about it."

Carol rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Of course she did; she always wants to know what everyone is doing and when."

"Well, she _is_ the family matriarch," I replied with a smile just as my father approached.

"Forgive me, Carol, but my lovely daughter and I must get going," Papa said with a bow and a smile. "Box seats, you know, and they won't open them for us if we're late!"

I quickly exchanged kisses on the cheek with my friend before letting Papa lead me up to our box. I was quickly situated in the chair closest to the stage, and had just pulled out my fan when the lights dimmed. After that, I was immersed in the timeless tale of Romeo and Juliet.

* * *

Not long after seeing the play, I noticed that my father and Uncle Gregory were acting strangely. For several months, whenever the family got together, I saw them both go into Papa's office and shut the door, neither one emerging until it was time for Uncle Gregory, his wife, and his two children to go home. Also, they both looked extremely and unusually cheerful. 

In all the chaos, no one else in the family saw anything suspicious, but since it _was_ my home and my father's office, I suppose I was the exception. Still, it made me uneasy to think that the two of them were discussing something secretive behind my back. And the fact that they were always so smugly happy tended to make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Today was one of those days that they cloistered together, but it was also one of the days where I was left alone to my devices. I was feeling rather tired today, and Grandmother said that she would preside over the entire gathering of relatives. Relieved, I had headed upstairs to my room and shut the door. Now, sitting at my desk with my notebook before me on the desk and a pen in hand, I tried to think of reasons why my father and uncle were meeting so secretly, and yet so openly, with all of the family gathering in just the next room.

'_The last time Papa had a secret meeting in his office, it was over the possibility of arranging a marriage for me_,' I thought with a shudder.

That had been a particularly trying time, creating a small rift between myself and my father. Four years ago, when I had turned twenty, Papa had decided that I was long overdue for a marriage. He had promised that I would be allowed to wed for love, but I suppose that he secretly longed for me to wed and give him giggling grandchildren (though why he wanted those when he had an existing gaggle of nieces and nephews was a puzzle to me).

Unfortunately, his selection was based on a recommendation made to him by a friend, and I was relieved when Papa met the potential groom before letting his plans move any further!

A general in the British Army, Brandon Fitzwilliam was an older man that was about the same age as my father. I had seen him at a distance, and he wasn't a horrible-looking man; with graying-blond hair, a Roman nose, and a broad smile, he was actually very kind and had a good sense of humor. He had a limp from a previous army battle, but was still in good shape. He was a self-made man, of sorts, and a (ahem) younger son, which left him without a large inheritance, but he was still well-off.

In the end, I probably wouldn't have minded marrying the general, but when Papa realized just _how old_, exactly, Mr. Fitzwilliam _was_, he halted the betrothal plans and sent the poor man on his way. Through the local gossip, I heard that Mr. Fitzwilliam had been disappointed, but two years later, he married an elderly widow who was completely smitten with him. I had sent a large bouquet of flowers and a bolt of silk as a wedding gift, since the widow was a friend of Grandmother's.

Sighing, I went over the information I had in my head, focusing on what I knew about my father. When Papa was planning something that involved me, a huge, pleased smile was on his face. There was no smile at the present, but there _was_ a smirk constantly pulling at the corner of his lips, so I knew that whatever it was he was planning involved me somehow.

'_And it has to be a very big, grandiose thing, too_,' I thought, bringing the end of my pen up to my lips and nibbling at it in thought. '_Since Uncle Gregory looks as smug as Papa does, then it must be very important to the two of them_!'

Whatever it was, though, mystified me and was presently giving me a headache. So, putting aside those thoughts, I focused on the newest story unfolding underneath the scribbles of my pen.

* * *

Towards the end of the year, just before Christmas, my father called me into his office. I sat down in the proffered chair while Papa put several sheets of paper onto the table before me. Puzzled, I leaned forward to take a better look. 

"Feel free to pick them up and look at them, kitten," my father said, his lips pulled into a smile. "Your opinion on the matter is of great importance, and I'm afraid that I will desperately need it."

"My opinion on what?" I asked as I picked up the papers.

One was a lovely drawing of a building, the front standing proud and impressive Greek columns of stone. Graceful arches, tall statues, and intricate stonework decorated the entirety of the building; on the roof was a large dome that sported intricate metalwork and had a statue bearing a golden crown in its hands. The entire roof was covered with magnificent representations of muses, gods, goddesses and winged horses. It was one of the most beautiful buildings I'd ever seen.

"What is it?" I asked teasingly. "You aren't going to build a Grecian temple, are you? Lord knows that no one in the family will like that very much!"

Papa shook his head and laughed. "No, my Aria, it is far more than that." He shoved another sheet of paper at me, though this was an actual document. "It is the Opera Populaire in Paris."

I looked at him in amazement. "The one that burned down five years ago?" my voice asked in a whisper. "The one with the horrid scandal of the madman who fell in love with a singer?"

"The very one," my father said with relish. "Some investors have rebuilt the place at a tremendous cost, and they have sold it to us at less than face-value! Your uncle and I are its new owners!"

Collapsing back into my chair, I stared at him. "You _what_?" I gasped.

"Your uncle and I have purchased the Paris opera house," Papa said, beaming madly.

"But you don't have the money to buy such a thing!" I protested, my voice growing shrill. "It would cost everything we have to buy that!"

Papa shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. "Well, not _everything_," he said, giving me a hesitant smile. "Your uncle has invested a large share of his fortune into the place, and since he and I have already received our shares of the Craven family inheritance, we decided to increase our wealth through buying the Populaire."

I felt faint. "But…do you have a patron for the Populaire?" I demanded. "A patron is needed to fund the performances! If you've already spent all of our money on the building, then how will we pay for the performances we are to put on?"

Rolling his eyes, my father looked at me as though **_I_** were the foolish one on the matter instead of him. "The money we've spent includes paying for the first performance," he said calmly…_too_ calmly. "After the first show is a success, we will have dozens of people willing to patron the opera house!"

Groaning, I buried my face in my hands. How could my father do something as thoughtless as this? All of our money…what would we live on? I asked him this, and Papa assured me that most, but not all, of our funds were in the Populaire; we would still live quite comfortably and not go into debt.

'_Not until the first show fails_,' I thought bitterly as my father babbled on plans for the first show he was going to have performed there. '_I need to talk to Grandmother about this…surely she can talk some sense into him and Uncle_!'

I would have to wait until the next family gathering at our home and hope that it wasn't too late to stop this madness.

* * *

"What were you two idiots thinking?" Grandmother yelled, her voice ricocheting off the walls, windows and doors. "Buying an _opera house_? In _Paris_? Did I raise two dunderheads who could do something so stupid, both intellectually and financially?" 

Seated to her right, I winced and tried to melt both into my chair and into the floor, wishing that my father and uncle wouldn't look at me like that. I sincerely hoped that this confrontation would put some sense into their heads, but Grandmother was turning shriller by the moment, and I knew that the family was gathered outside the closed library's doors, listening in. I could hear skirts whisking back and forth along the floorboards, and the sounds of whispers, clacking shoes and coughs were obvious even through the thick wood of the doors.

Uncle Gregory shifted from one foot to the other as he hung his head and sighed. "Mother, it really isn't a bad investment," he said, his voice taking on a pleading tone.

"Not a bad investment?" Grandmother demanded, blue eyes narrowing. Both of her sons swallowed heavily. "How, exactly, is this _not_ a bad investment?"

Papa spoke first. "I know a great deal about how to run an estate and a business, Mother," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I had taken many such courses at Oxford and had helped to run that shipping business in London before marrying Katherine, so I am not so inexperienced in that."

Grandmother merely glared at him. "And what, exactly, do the two of you know about opera?" she snapped. "Neither one of you so much as go to the theater more than once or twice every few months, much less know what goes on to put a production together!"

"Aria does," Papa stated, looking at me with a small smile. "She's been going to plays and such since she was a little girl, and she was always curious as to what went on behind the stage. I know that Christina's sister-in-law is friends with the theater manager in town, so she managed to get Aria backstage to see everything."

I shook my head. "That was well-over 10 years ago!" I said, looking to spare myself from my grandmother's wrath. "I remember some things, but not all of it!"

A small snort from Grandmother shut us all up. "I have to say that this has to be one of the stupidest things I've ever heard of," she said, glaring from one man to the other. When she turned towards me, I saw affection glimmer in her eyes. "Aria, darling, if your father and uncle _do_ manage to fall into financial ruin, feel free to come and stay with me and your grandfather; you will be most welcome." She leveled a glare at them from the corner of her eye as she rose from her seat.

"Thank you, Grandmother," I said, keeping my voice soft.

"As for you two!" she continued, her blue eyes now the temperature of the ice outside. "If the worst should happen, do not expect me or any of us to save you! It was your money that you wasted, and you will have only that and what you make or lose from your foolish investment! Opera house indeed!"

With that, she immediately turned and left the room, flinging open the doors and stalking off to the parlor, probably for something alcoholic to calm her temper. Meanwhile, Papa and Uncle looked disturbingly pleased, which only managed to worry me more. If Papa came to ruin, I had no doubts that Grandfather and Grandmother would welcome me with open arms; I had something to catch me if I fell. If Uncle failed, though, his wife and two children stood to loose face in society.

"Well, that went better than I thought," Papa commented happily. "I hope you'll be ready for when we leave for Paris in three months."

I sighed and shook my head.

* * *

Three Years Earlier in Paris: 

Before him lay the ruins of his greatest joy, the one place where he had reigned supreme. Through fear and manipulation, through terrifying notes and actions, and through the invisible-visible presence only he could command did he manage to achieve whatever it was he wanted done. Now all that remained of his kingdom were broken bits of marble and the stench of rotting wood.

Ashes lay scattered at his feet as burned papers flew by in the bone-chilling wind. The sun was setting and winter drew nearer, the harsh, cold air somehow enhancing the smells of fire around him instead of diminishing them. How could such beauty, such _glory_, be turned into this? Had his heart, his soul, his endless need to be loved and accepted…had he done this to the one haven he'd had on this earth?

'_It's gone_,' he thought, one hand reaching down to pick up a small piece of flawless white marble, possibly the one thing that was untarnished by smoke. '_It's all gone_…'

The sound of men approaching through what had been the front doors snapped his attention back to where he was. Retreating to the shadows of a pillar, he listened in on what was being said.

"Shame, really," a male voice, slightly shrill, said. "It was a lovely building, and the performances were something to be seen!"

"It will be lovely again," a different man commented. "We've got the funds to rebuild it, but that's all. Some rich fool who loves art, music and opera will have to buy it from us at a ridiculous price for us to make a profit."

The first man laughed. "Oh, I've no doubt that, if we bring these plans to the richest lovers of music, there will be someone foolish enough to buy this place. The nobleman will have to be from another country, of course, but no fear! All rich men love art; if they don't, then they surely have a wife, mother, or elderly aunt who certainly does and will persuade the man to buy it at our price!"

Interested in spite of himself, he edged closer to the men, listening to their chatter. One of them pulled out the architectural plans, but a strong gust of wind blew it out of his hands and behind the pillar he hid behind. A quick movement of his hand snatched it from the grasp of the wind, and his gold-flecked green eyes took in what was drawn there.

'_How promising_,' he thought, smirking just a little. '_Very promising_…_a few changes here and there, and it will be everything I need to take my place once more_.'

The men had left, their voices claiming that their lost drawings were of no importance, merely a copy of the original laying in their offices. He shook his head and tucked the plans into his cloak, thankful that he had brought it with him to ward off the cold.

'_I will make the changes and take them up to Antoinette. She will then give these back to the gentlemen with little difficulty and they will find my…**improvements** quite impressive_,' he thought, stopping at the foot of one particular stairway.

A kick of his foot, and a trap door opened. Laughing to himself, he stepped forward and fell, the door closing and locking behind him.

* * *

AN: There's chapter two. Reviews keep me and my muses happy! 


	3. Paris

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: Here is another chapter. I'm going to skip a few things because, let's face it, reading about moving somewhere just isn't exciting. Therefore, I'm using my author's powers to move things faster. Also, the Craven's are the first "official" owners of the Populaire after it's been rebuilt, since building stuff took a while back then. Thanks for reading, and please review!

**Chapter 3: Paris**:

As the carriage my father, uncle and I were in approached the Opera House, I found that I could not believe how different Paris was from our country home.

Of course, I had stayed in London many times in my life, and had expected Paris to be just as bustling and noisy; however, it was amazingly different from England. The fact that it was French being spoken did not bother me; Grandmother had seen to it that all of her daughters and granddaughters learned to speak fluent French while growing up. I understood every word that reached my ears, but it was not the spoken word or the physical look of city itself that awed me. No, it was the fact that the air itself vibrated with a life-force quite different from that of England.

While London had been full of people going to-and-fro, Paris was far livelier; the air seemed thick with emotions and energies that I had never felt before, and it excited me to no end. Women in the newest Parisian fashions walked along the streets, and I had to resist the urge to tell Papa that I needed to shop for new things. Elegant silks and hats caught my eye, and I felt the need to go shopping.

'_But there is no money for that now_,' I thought sadly, watching one woman in a particularly lovely blue gown. '_The Opera House must come before all else; then, after we've had a successful production, I will be able to dress as the other girls do in Paris_.'

A gasp escaped my lips as I felt the carriage slow and the Opera House came into view. The grandiose building was breathtaking, and the golden statues on the roof of it glittered as though in welcome of their new owners. I wished that my Uncle Gregory's wife and children could be here, but the little ones were too young to make the journey to France and had to be left at home. No doubt that they would instantly love the impressive fantasy-like air it inspired.

The carriage pulled to a stop at the front door and Papa leapt out, closely followed by my uncle. Both men offered to help me out, and after I had exited, I looked around. Surprisingly, there was a small group standing there to meet us, consisting mostly of young girls in identical filmy white dresses. From their appearance, I judged them to be from the ballet.

At the head of the group was an older woman about the age of my mother, her face solemn and serious as she waited to greet us. She was dressed entirely in black, meaning that she was a widow, and in her right hand she clutched an ivory-handled cane. Her silvery-blond hair was pulled up into a severe bun and her grey eyes were proud. The expression on her face was stern, but I could see a soft kindness to it, a kindness that was probably not given out very freely. To the woman's left stood a pretty young girl with flowing blonde hair and blue eyes. She, too, was dressed in a flowing, simple white dress, and, looking closely, I noticed that her facial features resembled Madame Giry's.

"Welcome, Monsieur Craven," the woman said as she stepped forwards. "I am Madame Antoinette Giry, the ballet mistress." She gestured to the girl standing to her left. "This is my daughter, Meg; she is the prima ballerina here at the Populaire. The others are my ballet dancers."

Papa gave her a slight bow. "Madame Giry, thank you for meeting us," he said with a smile. "This is my brother, Gregory, and my daughter, Aria. She will be living here at the Opera House with my brother and me."

Madame Giry raised an eyebrow. "You will be staying here?" she asked, obviously puzzled. "Do you not have a home here in Paris? Or at least a hotel where you will likely be more comfortable?"

Uncle shook his head. "We wish to be nearer to our employees, if only to spare the time and money of sending a messenger in case of an emergency," he explained.

I watched Madame carefully as she tried to absorb my father and uncle's words. Her face had become slightly alarmed when my father introduced me, and her eyes had flicked towards my left hand, almost as though she were checking to see if I were married. When Papa had declared that we Craven's would be staying at the Opera House together, surprise had joined the alarm in her eyes, and I could see a touch of fear there as well.

'_What could possibly frighten her about us staying here at the Opera House_?' I thought to myself.

Perhaps she was stealing money or some sort of thing from the Opera House and feared to be found out? Could that be it? Examining her expression, I decided against that idea; her face was closed to the casual observer, but her eyes were the window to her true emotions. She was no thief fearing to be caught, but her obvious sense of panic about _something_ was quite real.

I tore my eyes away from her and focused on her daughter. Meg Giry was as short of stature as I was, though perhaps a bit smaller. She was very slight and pretty, perfect for a ballerina, and her innocent expression was sweet. It would take a heart of stone not to like her, especially if she smiled; I knew without question that she had a lovely, open smile.

Even as I thought that, Meg looked over at me and gave me the smile I'd been thinking of. I returned it openly and honestly, which seemed to make her happier for some reason. She gave me a small nod of greeting, which I also returned.

"Shall we go inside, Monsieur?" Madame Giry asked. "It is quite cold, and it is winter, after all."

"Yes, please," Papa replied, offering me his arm, which I automatically accepted. "I hate keeping my daughter out in the cold like this; she tends to become ill if left outside too long."

I blushed and rolled my eyes at the dancers, who all giggled slightly at my expression. They became silent, however, when Madame turned and gave them a stern look before leading us up to the doors. The dancers trailed behind us like little lost ducklings, all except for Meg, who walked directly to her mother's right.

As I was escorted inside, I looked around and admired the large hallway. White marble, gold painted statues, fantastic murals and a brilliant chandelier filled the room up with welcoming light. I felt joy flow through me as I admired the beauty of it all. The theater close to my home back in England wasn't nearly as grand, and I couldn't help but feel better about Papa's purchase of this place. Surely people would come back to this temple built for music and opera?

"We have many rooms in the Populaire meant for living space, Monsieur," Madame Giry was saying. "There are some lovely ones located near the manager's offices, which I assume will be yours?"

"Absolutely," Papa replied while patting my hand, which was firmly tucked in his elbow.

Madame nodded. "There are two suites of rooms, one for you and your brother, Monsieur, but I'm afraid that there isn't one for your daughter," she apologized. "However, there is room for her in the dormitories if she wishes-"

"Thank you, Madame, but my daughter will not be staying in the dormitories," Papa firmly replied. "I did a bit of research and have decided that she will sleep in the Prima Donna's rooms."

The dancers gasped and began whispering frantically behind my back, causing me to turn around and stare at them. Madame tapped her cane loudly on the floor, getting instant silence with only two taps, much to my amazement; the woman must carry a great deal of respect if she were to get such attention so quickly. I quickly a made a note of it, and decided to try and be in her favor, in case I needed her for something in the near future.

"Monsieur, it is quite unusual for someone other than the Prima Donna to stay in those rooms," Madame said, her voice slightly strained.

My father put on a firm look. "Madame Giry, I happen to know that our newest Prima Donna has her own home near the Populaire and will have no use for the suite," he said as he glared at her. "There is another costume-and-makeup room that she may use that is close to the stage and as comfortable. I have decided that the suite now belongs to my daughter. Is that understood?"

For a moment, I thought Madame would protest, but she quickly silenced herself and nodded before leading us onwards. Behind us, the dancers seemed to vanish on their own, allowing the rest of us to proceed without a group trailing at our rear, for which I was thankful.

As we walked down numerous hallways and listened to Madame explain where certain rooms were and what they were used for, I saw many people gazing at us from behind doors and around corners. I tried not to look at them directly; they were probably just curious about their new managers and what to make of us, since we were strangers from England now living in Paris. The dancers and chorus girls in particular were interested in my father and uncle, and I could guess why.

After hearing a swift flurry of soft chatter, it was obvious that the ballerinas were explaining that my uncle was married and I was the daughter of the other Populaire manager and owner. I watched in satisfaction as the girls looked disappointed; there was no chance for a greedy little performance girl to snatch either one of their new managers, and I barely restrained myself from smirking at them. My uncle was very much in love with his wife, and Papa would never marry again, since he wasn't exactly divorced from my mother in the first place. Since they were very honorable, very loyal men towards their wives, they were quite safe from the scandals of affairs and the like.

"Here are the Prima Donna rooms," Madame Giry declared, stopping right before the white doors trimmed with gold paint. "I hope that Mademoiselle Craven will be comfortable here, as it has the highest quality of everything she could possibly need."

I noticed a touch of emotion in her voice, and could tell she was testing me. Looking her in the eye, I knew that she assumed me to be a spoiled young woman, one who was used to having the best of everything and to ordering others about whilst I sat in my room and looked pretty. Given the chance, I would have told Madame that there was nothing I hated more than sitting around and being idle; I was always writing stories for my cousins, sewing my father's shirts, or listening to our housekeeper play the piano, just so there wasn't so much silence in the house. Now was probably the best time to prove her wrong, though I would have to polite in doing so.

Glancing towards Meg, I had a sudden epiphany. Perhaps the best way to win over Madame Giry was to become friends with her daughter. The young dancer seemed like a good sort, and I found myself eager to have someone to talk to besides my father and uncle. So, putting on my best smile, I gave Madame an honest, grateful look.

"Thank you, Madame Giry," I replied. "I'm afraid that the long journey has taken its toll on me. Would it be alright if your daughter Meg joined me for some tea? I would like to get to know her better and perhaps we could tour the Opera House together."

I watched as Meg's blue eyes lit up, very much eager to make a new friend. It probably didn't matter that I was the manager's daughter; she just looked as though she wanted a friend to talk with, someone who hadn't already knew the latest talk and stories occurring within the Opera House. Also, since I wasn't a dancer or a singer, we would probably have many other things to talk about without feeling as though I wanted to take Meg's place as prima ballerina.

Meanwhile, Madame Giry looked as though she wanted to be sure that I wanted to become friends with her Meg, not toying around with the other girl's emotions and kindness. For a moment, I came under the scrutiny of Madame Giry's gaze, her gray eyes staring into mine as she attempted to read my intentions. It made me uncomfortable for a moment, as it was the same sort of trick Grandmother used when she was trying to see if someone was lying to her or not. Knowing it would prove disastrous to look away, I merely stood there and allowed the ballet mistress to 'read' me.

After what felt like an eternity, those cold eyes warmed slightly, and she nodded. "Very well, then," Madame said. Turning towards her daughter, she continued, "Meg, since today is a rest day for the Populaire, you may stay with Mademoiselle Craven while the staff and I meet with her father and uncle. When you are finished, come and see me about practice for tomorrow."

She then gave Meg a severe look that told her not to do anything stupid before leading Papa and Uncle Gregory off. Papa gave me a kiss on the forehead before leaving, as well as pressing a small cloth purse into my palm. Before I could thank him, he had vanished around the corner. Sighing, I turned towards Meg and gave her a smile, which she shyly returned.

"Shall I have the kitchen send up tea?" she asked. "And a small bit of something for you to eat? Dinner won't be for hours yet, and I'm sure you're hungry."

"Yes, please!" I said with relief. "That way, you and I can talk a bit while we wait."

Meg nodded excitedly before leading me inside the room. To my surprise, the suite was quite large, almost as large as mine had been at my home in England. The walls were covered in wallpaper of a reddish-brown with elegant vines and tiny pink-and-white roses, making the room elegant, but cozy, which I liked very much. On the far side of the room was a tremendous gold-framed mirror that stood at least six-feet-tall; I had always wanted such a mirror for my room, but Papa had always refused, saying how expensive it would be to purchase one of that size. Thus far, I was satisfied with my rooms…except for one thing…

The furniture was covered in pink sheets. If there was one color I detested, it was pink.

Barely containing my urge to gag, I began removing my traveling gloves and hat, pulling out the pins in my hair and letting it fall down my back. As I began combing my fingers through my hair, I listened as Meg began chattering in that sweet voice of hers. I found myself smiling while she talked, as it was soft, musical, and very pleasant to listen to.

"I've rung for tea to be brought up to your room, though I'm terribly sorry about the color," she was saying. "La Carlotta was the diva here before, and her favorite color was pink. And since these rooms were untouched by the fire, it means that they got to keep their looks until long after--oh, my goodness!"

Alarmed, I turned around. Meg's eyes were wide and she was staring at me as though I had grown three heads. "What? What is it?" I asked, wanting to see what had startled her.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Meg apologized. "It's just that you have such pretty hair…I've always wanted dark hair like yours!"

I couldn't help laughing. "Well, if it were possible, mademoiselle, I would gladly trade hair colors with you," I said while giving her a wink. "I've always wanted blonde hair, especially hair that isn't impossible to style. Yours must be easy to put up into curls or braids; mine always escapes its pins and sticks out in the strangest places."

Meg giggled just as a knock was heard at the door. She accepted the tea tray from the serving boy there and thanked him before kicking door shut with the heel of her foot. After setting the tray on a nearby table, she sat and waited for me to finish changing out of my travel clothes. Since my belongings had been sent here from England weeks ago, all of the boxes they had been sent in were neatly stacked in a corner, waiting to be moved to another room, if necessary.

'_Thank goodness it's not_!' I thought to myself as I pulled off my dress. '_I quite like where I am_!'

I watched as bits of dirt floated off of the cloth and winced; it would have to be washed, and soon. Quickly tossing the grimy thing aside, I went to one of the boxes and began rummaging around, finding a simple, pale lavender gown that would be easy to explore in and swiftly put it on. I rummaged around some more and found my hairbrushes and combs, which I put to immediate use.

"You may go ahead and pour, Mademoiselle Giry," I said while pulling a comb through my impossibly thick locks. "It will take me some time to finish."

Meg nodded. "Please, call me Meg," she pleaded as she poured for the two of us. "Cream or sugar?"

"Both please," I replied. "And I will gladly call you Meg if you call me Aria."

She sighed as she finished putting the cream and sugar into our cups. "You have such a pretty name," Meg said. "Does it mean music? It certainly sounds musical."

I laughed and nodded as I put up the last strands of my hair into a chignon at the back of my head. "It does mean music, though I'm sad to say that I am as _unmusical_ as can be," I said, walking over to join her on the couch.

Meg chuckled as I sat down, the two of us chatting about everything and nothing. We exchanged stories about our favorite foods, colors, childhoods, and families. Meg was shocked and envious to hear about my family and how we all gathered together at least once a month; in turn, I was jealous of her growing up in the Populaire and becoming a dancer.

"But it hasn't been all wonderful things," Meg said, suddenly turning hesitant. "And as you are now my friend, and your father and uncle own the Opera House, I feel I must warn you…"

Her sudden change in demeanor startled me. "Meg, what is it?" I pressed, my hand coming to rest comfortingly on hers. "What do you need to tell me about?"

She sighed. "Have you heard of the Opera Ghost?"

I blinked at her for a moment. "Well," I slowly replied. "I have read many stories about it."

Meg nodded with all of the wisdom and solemnity of a wisewoman. "It's all true," she whispered, leaning in closer. "He lived underneath the Populaire and could be seen going in and out of Box 5, the most expensive seat in the house! And he demanded a monthly salary of _twenty thousand francs_! Then he fell in love with a friend of mine, and when she refused him, he went mad. He wrote an opera for her to perform and kidnapped her during the opening night! It was terrifying!"

I had heard about the opera, but not about the extortion. "Meg, really…"

She shushed me. "He still lives here, I'm sure of it!" Meg exclaimed. "My mother was once his messenger and the collector of his salary. I know this because, before a note was sent to the managers, _maman_ would disappear for a while and would immediately reappear just as the note was being discovered!" Then she paused. "And now, just as your family has taken over the Opera House, _maman_ has returned to vanishing again at odd times. You must be careful, Aria!"

"Meg, I doubt that there is such a thing as a ghost in the Populaire," I said with a shake of my head.

A small, frightened smile tugged at her lips. "You will see," she said. "Just wait and see."

Shaken by this, I knew it had been a horrible mistake purchasing the Opera House.

* * *

"Aria, you are being silly about all this," my uncle said, his voice light as though he were trying to humor me. "There is no Opera Ghost! It's all a story that the ballerinas made up to frighten you." 

He then sat down at his desk, shuffling through papers in an attempt to ignore me. My uncle and I were in the managers' office, where I had asked to meet after dinner; Papa was sleeping in his room.

"But the newspapers!" I protested. "The papers all say it was he who had burned down the Populaire in the first place! There were witnesses who saw him abduct the soprano! A whole audience of opera attendants saw it happen right in front of them!"

He waved my comments aside. "Probably a performance gone wrong," he said. "And the fact that so much money went missing over the years is probably due to someone stealing from the Populaire."

"But what about the accidents? And the murder of the stagehand?" I desperately asked.

"An accident," Uncle snapped. "Now, enough of this nonsense, Aria. There is no…"

I looked over at him to see what had stopped him mid-sentence. The answer was in his hand; an envelope sealed with a red wax skull. I watched as he opened the letter and read it. Suddenly, he crumpled the thing up and tossed it into the fire

"A joke," Uncle said firmly. "A twisted joke from an employee, that's all." He gave me a stern look. "You are not to tell your father, do you understand? He is stressed enough as it is. We will ignore the note and the prankster will leave us be, mark my word."

I, however, wasn't so sure, but promised to keep quiet…for now.

* * *

AN: Uh, oh, Erik's not going to be happy! He'll be here next chapter, I promise. Please review! 


	4. Life at the Opera House

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: I thought I should mention that I'm using the Phantom from the movie, just so everyone can see him in their heads. Thanks, and please review!

**Chapter 4: Life at the Opera House:**

I didn't like not telling Papa about the note, but since Uncle had forbid it, I had no choice. Besides, Papa had enough to worry about with putting a production together with the Populaire's staff. First he and Uncle had to decide on which opera would be best, and they eventually settled on Mozart's '_The Magic Flute_.' I though it a wonderful choice, but putting it all together would be quite expensive.

"It's nothing compared to what we will get after a successful opening night," Papa declared when I'd brought the subject up. "You worry too much, kitten; everything will be alright."

Yes, I did worry too much, but _someone_ had to, especially since my father's claim to my Grandmother about involving me in running the Populaire had proven false. Instead, I was left alone, bored out of my mind while sitting in my rooms, watching the fire burn. As a single woman, Papa refused to let me go out alone, and since I had no governess or maid to accompany me (as we couldn't afford it), I was left to my own devices. I had plenty of books to read, as well as a lovely room to sit and sleep in, but there was only so much reading that I could do before going mad and hating the walls around me.

Thankfully, Meg Giry was kind enough to take a little time away from her dance practices and introduce me to Paris, showing me how she and other Parisians saw it. On the infrequent days she had free, Meg took me to nearby cafés, restaurants, and shops; she also took me to the best bakeries to buy breads and pastries for myself and my father. We had a great deal of fun exploring the streets together, tasting foods at the markets and looking through dress shop windows at the latest fashions.

Oh, how I longed for new Parisian-styled gowns, but I needed to be frugal now, and would not purchase them. Even though Papa would happily give me spending money when I asked for it, I would only approach him as needed; until we had a successful opening night, I would have to live on a budget that I designed for myself. My father and uncle might live as we always had, but I knew better than to think the way they do.

To save money, I scrimped and saved every penny (or franc) that I could. I re-wore my gowns, trading off sashes, bows, or whatever trimmings I could from one gown and placing them on another, making them appear to be new. I made sure to wash my gloves as carefully as I could, keeping them from getting dirty or worn in order to preserve them longer. Handkerchiefs, hair ribbons, and any other clothing accessory would have to last so that more money could be saved.

Thankfully, no one knew about my saving. I never told Meg, who was my only friend, and of course Papa and Uncle were too busy overseeing the creation and design of the new opera to notice what I was doing. So, at the end of the day, I tucked each bit of saved money away in case of an emergency, though I did keep a portion of it for some necessities. After all, nothing lasts forever, no matter how hard you try to save it.

About a month after our arrival in Paris, I discovered that something rather odd was going on. In my frequent moments of boredom, I had taken up the hobby of walking through random hallways, then attempting to walk back to my rooms without getting lost. It was on one of these little walks that I discovered something strange about Madame Giry, something that made me believe that the stories Meg had told me about her were, in fact, true.

One of my discoveries was that the ballet mistress often walked where she had no business being in, such as in the boxes reserved for the wealthy opera attendants. At first, I had thought it a fluke of some kind, but when I saw her coming out of Box 5 with an envelope, I grew both worried and suspicious; Meg had said her mother had been a messenger and banker of the "Opera Ghost," and I was beginning to believe her.

However, I had to wonder where the envelopes were going to. I knew that my father and uncle didn't appear to act any differently than they had before, and they certainly didn't appear fearful or angry because of any notes. I was fairly certain that if it had been _me_ receiving notes such as those, I would have defiantly been angry or frightened; since neither Uncle nor Papa were acting differently, I had to assume that they were either ignoring the notes or hadn't gotten them yet. In order to find out, I had to do a little investigating of my own.

It had taken several days of keeping a sharp eye on Madame Giry, but I had managed to finally locate her while she was walking around a dark section of the Opera House. Quietly, I picked up my thin skirt and followed her, thankful that I had decided to use the soft-soled slippers that Grandmother had sent me from England. Following her back to her rooms, I watched her go inside, and lock the door behind her. After approaching the door, I carefully leaned forwards and peeked through the keyhole, watching her with shock as she threw the note into the fireplace.

'_She's burning the notes_,' I thought, silently stepping away from the door and heading back towards my own. '_If that is what she has been doing for weeks, then I can imagine that the Ghost must be getting quite angry by this point_.'

I couldn't help but smile at that. If a man thought that he could frighten everyone by pretending to be a ghost, he was very wrong. My father and uncle were not going to give in and pay him, and if even Madame Giry, his 'messenger' and money collector, was disobeying him, then he must not be as great as he had once been.

Perhaps my worries were all for naught after all…

* * *

Unfortunately, I had hoped too soon. Not long after discovering Madame Giry's secret letter burning, my father received a note, one that was addressed not only to him, but to my uncle as well. I had been in their office, helping them select colors for the opera when Madame Giry had entered the room, her face pale and drawn. Even though the note was for my father and uncle, Madame had immediately set the note before _me_, giving me a pointed look before leaving the room. 

Surprised, I had picked up the note and pulled it open, trying not to look at the red skull seal as I did so. There, scribbled in red ink, were the Ghost's instructions. Since I was a quick reader, I scanned through it and nearly fainted at the demands.

'_Box 5_! _I can't believe he wants Box 5_!' I thought to myself. '_It's the best seat in the house, and he wants it all to himself for nothing_!'

Reading further, I saw that he also wanted a monthly salary of twenty thousand francs, to be paid before the opening night of '_The Magic Flute_;' if we did not, something terrible would happen. Since the Opera House had been burned down before, I feared that this mad extortionist would no doubt have a terrible list of damages that he was fully prepared to do. After all, if he had been willing to burn down an entire building over a woman, what would he do for a salary such as this?

"Well, what does is say, Aria?" Papa demanded as he stalked over to me.

I cleared my throat. "It says that the Opera Ghost welcomes us to his Opera House," I began, intending to give them the sum of the note.

"_His_ opera house?" exclaimed my uncle. "Who does this man think he is?"

"Hush, Gregory, and let her finish," Papa snapped, never taking his blue eyes off of me.

I began again. "He also says that, through means he had not been aware of, his previous notes appeared to have gone astray," I said, nervously reading through the red-inked letter. "However, the situation has been dealt with, and he is sure that this note will have reached us safely intact."

"What does he mean by that?" Uncle said, looking a bit frightened and nervous.

"Be quiet," my father growled. "Read on, Aria."

Swallowing, I did so. "He wishes to say that he expects his monthly salary of 20,000 francs to be delivered promptly, and demands the private use of Box 5 for _every_ performance," I read. I couldn't help but smile at the next line. "It also declares that the new diva, Natasha Kavinski, must practice more often, or her voice will soon sound like a dying cat."

I couldn't contain the giggle that escaped my mouth. Whoever this ghost was, he had a humorous way of telling the truth, as Natasha did, in fact, need to work on her voice.

"Oh, Aria, be serious!" Papa snapped as he ran his fingers though his red hair. "Is there any more to the note?"

Quickly calming myself, I read on. "He advises that you carry out his wishes as soon as possible, preferably before the opening night. If his orders are not followed, a disaster beyond our imagination will occur. It's signed, '_Your obedient servant, O.G_.'"

Looking up from the message, I watched my father and uncle exchange calculating looks. Oh, I knew those looks; my grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles often gave each other those glances whenever they wanted to discuss something that either I, my brother, my cousins, or anyone else was not supposed to hear. They were not going to discuss this in front of me, and I would be forced to trick the matter out of them the next time we gathered together.

"Aria," my father said, interrupting my thoughts. "Your uncle and I were thinking about inviting some of your cousins here for a little while. Perhaps your Aunt Nancy's children would suffice? I'm sure that it would be good for them to try out their French in a true French setting?"

He was trying to distract me from the issue, of course, but I would allow it just this once. After all, with the performance coming up in a few weeks, Meg was far too busy practicing her roles in the opera to spend time with me, and I _was_ often alone and bored. My little cousins being here would greatly amuse everyone.

I gave them my most winsome smile. "I would enjoy that very much, Father," I said. "When will they be coming?"

* * *

Our guests arrived much sooner than I expected. Apparently my father had arranged for their visit long before the note had been sent to him, so my Aunt Nancy and her daughter, Grace, arrived a week after the Ghost's note had. Aunt Nancy's husband was unable to come, and neither had her son, as he was sick with a small cold. I worried, but was assured that it was nothing serious. 

To my surprise, Aunt Nancy wasn't the only one to come and visit. Aunt Mary had come as well, bringing her two daughters, Kari and Andrea. I was now hostess to three blonde darling girls, and to my two youngest aunts, all of whom were incredibly excited about being in Paris. Aunt Mary had been here during her honeymoon, but had not been back in over ten years.

"It's so different!" she exclaimed over our first tea together. "I remember certain shops that I had been to years ago, and when I tried to find them, they had gone!"

Aunt Nancy and I chuckled as we passed tea cups around to everyone. Kari and Andrea were seated near their mother, two perfectly poised statues in their matching white dresses. Their golden locks had been elegantly curled, and their hands were folded neatly in their laps. I smiled as I passed a cup to each of them, each girl politely and daintily accepting their cup into their hands.

For girls so young, they were quite well-behaved. Kari was barely 12-years-old, and Andrea had just turned 10 years of age a few weeks ago, which made me wonder how my aunt had managed to get them to behave like young ladies should. After all, Aunt Mary was hardly the type to order them into etiquette lessons, nor was she dominating or insisting enough to drill the mannerisms of the upper class into their heads.

'_Of course, Grandmother could have had a role in it_,' I thought to myself as I picked up a sandwich from the tray and placed it on my plate. '_Yes, Grandmother would likely explain how stiffly poor Kari is sitting; she looks as though her spine were becoming glued in that position_!'

"Kari, you don't need to sit so stiffly," I said teasingly. "We're all family here, so you and Andrea may relax for a little while. I imagine that the journey here must have been very hard, and sitting that way will only make you tired and irritable."

I knew that I was taking a risk of giving Kari and Andrea orders while my aunt was watching; Aunt Mary tended to dislike those who took charge of her daughters in her presence and was quick to rebuke them for doing so. Even I had come under her wrath from doing such a thing, but now it felt necessary to get my visiting family members relaxed. Little Grace was already fast asleep in the rooms she was sharing with Aunt Nancy, so why shouldn't everyone else unbend for a while?

Beside me, Aunt Mary sighed. "Your cousin is right, girls," she said, allowing herself to relax into the back of her chair. "We are in Paris, we are tired, and it is tea time. Relax and enjoy the best that the French have to offer us, hmm?"

I nearly laughed as both of my cousins nearly collapsed into the backs of their chairs. Barely containing my amusement, I sipped my tea and nibbled at the sandwiches, cakes, and pastries that the Opera House cook had sent up. As time wore on, we indulged in quite a bit of chatter, talking about what was happening so far with the family, the latest fashions in England versus those in Paris, and about how little Grace was experimenting with paints at such a young age.

"I'm not hoping for too much of anything," Aunt Nancy said with a smile. She was one of the drawers in the family, and hoped that one of her children would follow in her talents. "But if she's developing such an interest in paint, well…a mother can always hope."

Aunt Mary laughed and reached for another éclair. "Nancy, dearest, I'm sure that _all_ children, when given the chance, have an interest in paint. They merely need to see and touch the stuff before they are covered in the colors!"

The rest of us giggled while Aunt Nancy rolled her eyes. She was spared from answering by a small knock on the door. The others quieted while I set aside my tea cup and went to answer it, pulling the door open just enough to peek out. There stood a rather flustered Madame Giry, little Grace standing before her with her head down and dried tears on her face. Alarmed, I threw the door open and knelt before my cousin.

"Grace, what's wrong?" I cooed, my arms reaching for her.

Grace didn't say anything, merely flinging herself into my arms just as her tears began to flow once more. I didn't hesitate one moment in picking her up and holding her close in order to comfort her.

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle," Madame Giry said with a small curtsey. "But I heard her crying in her room and thought to bring her to you."

I gave her a smile of thanks and hugged Grace closer. "Thank you for your kindness, Madame," I said, stepping aside. "May I introduce you to my aunts? Aunt Mary," I nodded in her direction, "and Aunt Nancy, this is Madame Giry, the Populaire's ballet mistress. Madame, these are my aunts and my cousins, Kari and Andrea." I nodded to each girl as I said their names.

Madame curtseyed once more. "Madames and Mademoiselles," she said. "If you will excuse me, I must attend to my dancers before they forget themselves."

I was surprised when she gave Grace a small affectionate smile before departing. Then again, I suppose I shouldn't have been that astonished; in all likelihood, Grace probably reminded Madame of a very young Meg. The two did have lovely golden hair, after all, though Grace's eyes had more gray in them while Meg's were a bright blue.

"Well, she was rather interesting," Aunt Mary commented.

I shut the door and carried Grace over to my chair, settling her in my lap so that she saw the food on the table. She instantly began to sit up and smile, one hand reaching for the pastries with white frosting and fruit on top. Aunt Nancy put one on a plate and handed it to me. After retrieving a napkin, I accepted the small plate and held it so Grace could take the tasty treat. She practically snatched it off of the blue-and-silver china and bit into it, grinning widely upon discovering the small bit of chocolate inside. Once that was gone, she accepted a small ham sandwich and a drink of heavily sugared tea before begging me to read her a story. My aunts and other cousins smiled and laughed as they left the room, claiming to need a rest before dinner. I waved goodbye to them as Grace fetched a book from the stacks on my vanity.

"Now, what story is it to be today?" I asked, glancing over the book that Grace had brought me.

"Dickens!" she cried, jumping up and down.

Charles Dickens was presently one of my cousin's favorites, though I couldn't understand why. However, the only Dickens story that Grace truly understood and loved was '_A Christmas Carol_,' and even though it was two months _after_ the holiday, I was happy to read it to her. Besides, I, too, enjoyed the tale, and the ghosts gave us both a delicious shiver whenever we read it together.

'_And the subject of ghosts is certainly an appropriate one in a place like this_,' I thought as I picked up the book.

Not wanting to give the Opera Ghost another thought, I settled down into a plush chair and let Grace hop into my lap, her head firmly tucked under my chin as I began the story of Mr. Scrooge.

* * *

Through the mirror in what was once the diva's room, Erik watched intently as she read to the child curled up in her lap. The little one's blonde head, her curls twined around her fingers as she played with them, was leading against the young woman's collarbone as the she listened to the story. He barely resisted the urge to chuckle as the little girl began to suck her right thumb, shifting her position so that she was cradled like a little babe in her cousin's arms. It was a charming sight, something that truly belonged in a painting. 

For some time now, Erik had been watching the Opera Populaire's new arrivals, calculating how they behaved to one another and to the stressful situations that came with running an opera house. They were stubborn about obeying his notes, but then, that was to be expected; most had been the same way and had learned from their mistakes before it was too late. However, the three Cravens were a bit of a puzzle, and it was the two managers, Roland and Gregory, that were truly something Erik had never encountered before in all his years as the Opera Ghost.

Unlike previous managers, the Cravens had a great appreciation for the arts. Erik had seen the sketches that both Roland and Gregory had done for backdrop designs, and had (grudgingly) been impressed. The two men knew about art, and, therefore, knew at least a little of what an opera should look like. Roland Craven had even given a few prop makers instructions on how things should be made and how it should appear to the audience! Despite his misgivings about the two men, Erik had a small bit of admiration for those who took art of any sort seriously.

However, there was one thing he had not anticipated when it came to the arrival of the new owners…

'_Aria Craven_,' he thought as he stared at the young woman before him.

The creature mystified him. A pretty thing with dark brown eyes and hair, she, too, loved art and music, but appeared to have no talents in it. However, he had seen her write in her notebooks and discovered that she had writing potential, though it would probably come to nothing; after all, she was rich and attractive, so she would probably marry and loose all interest in the arts after the honeymoon.

'_A pity to see talent go to waste_,' he thought, listening as Aria continued reading the story to the child in her lap.

Well, she would at least make a good mother. Her voice was soothing, soft and gentle like a mother's should be. Erik watched in fascination and longing as she ran her right hand over the little girl's head, combing through golden tresses as she read the story aloud. It was as enchanting a sight as one could hope for, and for one moment, it brought a sense of peace to his heart.

In a flash, the peacefulness was gone, and raw envy flowed through him like a mixture of fire and ice. _He_ had never known the warmth of a mother's love. _He_ had never had someone hold him, read him stories, or gently place a kiss atop his brow. The only small moment of tenderness he had ever experienced had been one of pity and fear, a parting kiss from the lips of an Angel.

Suddenly filled with a bitterness so powerful he could taste it, Erik turned and stalked towards his home. What had been a rather pleasant day was now ruined by memories of the past, a past that would haunt him until the day he died. He would have to find a way to improve his mood, perhaps by ruining that of another.

Or perhaps it was time to write another note to the managers about his salary…

* * *

AN: Sorry there's not much Erik, but there will be more coming up…lots more! Please review! 


	5. Of Anger and Frustration

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: Okay, I know I've been skimping on Erik, so I've decided to try and put more of him in this chapter. I mean, what's a Phantom story without the Phantom, right? So here he is, though he's a bit pissed off. Also, I'm making it so that his natural hair is dark, just like Gerard Butler's, since Erik deserves to look tall, dark and handsome. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

**Chapter 5: Of Anger and Frustration:**

A mad explosion of notes burst from the elegant instrument under his fingers, the organ sending forth music that match his shattered heart and desperate need. Hours earlier he had seen Aria Craven reading to a little girl with golden hair, and yet he still had not been able to get the vision out of his head! What was it about this girl, this _woman_, that made her such a thorn in his thoughts?

Growling, Erik slammed his fists down upon the ivory keys, ending the parade of music with an angry garble of notes. Instead, he stood up and began pacing his home, moving from one side of the cave to another. From first glance, one would never know that this place had once been destroyed by a mob, a group of angry townsfolk out hunting for his blood. He had escaped them, though, slipping through one of his secret passages that led up to the streets.

'_At least Madame Giry had followed my instructions and rented that apartment for me_,' he thought, running his hands through his dark hair.

* * *

Months before the opening of Don Juan, Erik had given his old friend money to find an aboveground home for him, a place where he could have taken his Angel after they were married. But the marriage had not occurred, and instead of the place becoming a warm, happy home, the apartment had become a temporary prison. He had known that he would be pursued by the authorities, but had thought to survive it with his dear Christine by his side; he had not thought to be holed up, alone in the world and nearly friendless once more. 

For days he had sat in his hiding place, avoiding the windows and keeping as silent as possible so as not to be discovered. After living this way, sitting in the dark, eating little and sleeping less, Madame Giry had come to him with a panicked look on her face. She had been relieved, discovering him there, alive and relatively well in the place she had bought for him, and had told him of the latest news.

"You have been in here nearly two weeks, Erik," she had said while placing a good, solid meal before him on the dining room table. "I'm sorry that I have to be the one to tell you this, but…Christine has married Raoul de Chagny and they will soon be leaving Paris…perhaps even France altogether."

She had heard his strangled whimper and had put a gentle hand on his shoulder to comfort him. As Madame began to force-feed him, Erik had sat and absently eaten whatever she held to his mouth, knowing he would need his strength. Christine was married; she would soon leave Paris and he would never see her again. She would have a family and forget him as though he had never existed.

When he had finished his meal, Erik came to a decision. "I want to return to the Opera House."

Madame Giry had protested. "But Erik, there is nothing left for you to go back to!" she said. "Much of the Populaire has been burned down, and very few rooms remain intact. If anyone rebuilds it, it will take years!"

He glared at her and watched her quiver underneath his cold, green-gold eyes. "And my underground caverns?" he asked. "Have they burned down as well?"

She had sighed, picked up the dirty plate, and began to wash it. "Meg had gone along with the mob that had pursued you," she replied. "They rummaged through much of your home, though mostly just the front half. Your organ was spared, but many of your valuables are gone."

Erik waved that aside. "I can always buy more things or make them," he said in a dismissive tone. "As long as my organ is intact, that is all that matters."

"Erik…" Madame hesitated. "Why not buy a home in the country and leave Paris, or leave France altogether? Surely there is nothing for you here!"

A fist slammed against the table. "Do you think that people will accept me elsewhere?" he yelled. "I will always be shunned, and I will not leave the one place I have been able to call 'home!'"

In the end, Madame Giry agreed to help him clean up the lair. She bought him new clothes to replace those burned or ruined by the mob, and had helped to deliver food and other necessities that he could not go out and purchase himself. This was because, at night, Erik was able to travel through Paris, purchasing new art supplies and other things that caught his fancy. However, it was during the day that the markets and bakeries were open, so Madame had fetched his groceries for him.

Slowly, over the course of two years time, the former Phantom of the Opera had rebuilt his house beneath the ruins of the Opera House. Then a pair of wealthy bankers had come along, looking to rebuild the place, and the rest was history….

* * *

Jolting out of his memories, Erik snapped back to the present. The madness that was Aria Craven was still in his mind, and for some reason he couldn't understand, her name was in his thoughts. The name Aria meant '_music_,' and yet she claimed to be unmusical; he had learned that little fact from spying on her in her bedroom. 

'_Shame on me, spying on a pretty young woman in her bedroom_,' he thought to himself with a smirk.

Of course, he had learned so much about her in that way. Mademoiselle Craven had a fondness for books and writing, a rather unusual set of hobbies for a woman of such high class. She also enjoyed looking after her father, who appeared to be the red-haired manager of the Populaire, and loved to be in the audience while the orchestra practiced. For some reason, it pleased him to see her take such pleasure from merely listening to music.

That last idea shocked him. '_Why do I care if she enjoys music_?' he thought to himself. '_Fool_! _Did you learn nothing from Christine's betrayal_?'

Snarling to himself, he sat down at his desk to compose a letter.

* * *

The morning after their arrival, I took my aunts and cousins out into the streets to go shopping. My aunts had said nothing about my not having a new Parisian gown, but I could tell that they knew about Papa's lack of money. I was sure that Grandmother Caroline had given strict orders for her daughters not to help out their brothers, but we were a close family and my aunts were certainly the types to spoil their eldest niece. That is why, when we stopped at a dress shop, Aunt Mary had instructed me to pick out a few fine things to wear in the future. 

"Don't be silly," she said, waving aside my protests. "Besides, your Uncle Geoffrey knows that I'm doing this and approves. You need new outfits if you are going to impress the people of Paris, and you will most certainly need a brand new evening gown for the opening night of the first performance."

Since refusing anything Aunt Mary did was impossible, I chose several new dresses for wearing during the day and one evening gown. One day-dress was pale blue, one crème colored with dark green trim and buttons, and another was a light lavender color trimmed with dark purple. My evening gown was made of white silk, the edges trimmed with silvery-gold-and-blue lace. With each dress came a matching headpiece or hat, purchased by my Aunt Nancy. When I tried to thank them both, they merely gave one of their bubbling laughs and waved it aside.

"It's nothing, dearest," Aunt Nancy said as she checked to make sure Grace wasn't getting too close to the ribbons and playing with them. "Besides, we almost never get to buy pretty things for you; your father never let us, unless it was your birthday or Christmas."

Blushing, I proceeded to walk around town with them, helping Kari and Andrea choose dresses and hair ribbons to wear around Paris and to later show off at home. We stopped by a café for lunch, shopped for new shoes and stockings, and had a tasty treat at a nearby bakery. I was nearly asleep on my feet by mid-afternoon, so we decided to go back to the Opera House and have a nap before gathering together for dinner.

Once I was alone in my rooms, however, I noticed something was wrong. First of all, my father and Uncle were waiting for me, and as they sat on my couch, they both had worried looks on their faces. Also, they looked horribly pale for men who were known for their healthy ways of life. Pulling off my gloves, hat, and light coat, I set them down on my vanity's chair before walking over to Papa's side. He gave me a weak smile as I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Papa, what's wrong?" I asked in a whisper so that eavesdroppers couldn't hear me outside the door. This _was_ an opera house, after all, and people tended to look for gossip at the worst possible times.

My father sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Kitten, we have a problem."

When he held up the note in his hand, I knew exactly what was happening…and what I had to do to stop it from ruining my family.

* * *

After we had returned from our family dinner at a local restaurant, each of my aunts had quickly taken their offspring to bed, saying that the day had worn all of them out. Papa and Uncle Gregory had kissed them all 'good night,' then had promptly gone off a little bit of 'bonding,' heading off to their rooms for a glass of liquor and a cigar before bed. 

I, however, had other plans. Not wanting my father to know what I was up to, I had to carefully go over my ideas in my head while playing the happy daughter/niece/cousin at dinner. Since that part was over, I was now free to put my plans into action: visiting the one person who could either put a stop to the notes or at least help me with the situation this 'Ghost' had created. That is why I was quietly stalking down the hallways towards Madame Giry's suite in the middle of the night.

Meg had kindly told me the exact hallway and direction her mother's rooms were in, carefully mentioning that she, too, slept there, but only when the other dancers were being too noisy in the dorms. Fearing that Meg would be there to see what I was doing, I was never so relieved to find Madame alone in her quarters after knocking at her door. She graciously invited me inside and offered me a chair, her face full of puzzlement as to the unusual hour of my visit.

"Madame, I'm afraid that this isn't a social call," I said straightforwardly, clasping my hands in my lap as I spoke. "I have come to you for the sake of my father and my uncle."

The ballet mistress sat bolt upright, her face turning blank and cold. "What is it you wish to speak to me about, mademoiselle?" she asked stiffly, as if she already knew, though perhaps she did.

I decided to go straight into the heart of the matter. "Madame Giry, I happen to know that you are the messenger of this so-called 'Opera Ghost,'" I said, becoming as polite and as warm as a statue.

She stiffened even more, if that were possible. "Where have you heard this?" she asked slowly.

"Oh, people talk," I casually replied. "The point that this man, a man who thinks himself a ghost, believes that he can extort money from my father and uncle, both of whom are good men and have every intention of making this place a success. They are good, kind, decent men who would give everything they have to bring the Populaire back to its glory days, and do it happily."

"Then they should have no trouble paying the Ghost, especially since they are so rich," Madame retorted. "Such a payment is probably well within their means."

By now I was angry and ready to show it. "They cannot pay because there _is_ _no money to pay him_ _with_!" I snapped at her, catching her off guard with my furious response.

She gaped at me in shock. "There is no money?" she whispered. "_Mon Dieu_, then how are they to pay the workers?"

I sighed and forced myself to relax. "There is money, Madame, and it's all going to pay for several things," I replied. "My father and uncle's fortunes are funding this production, paying your salaries, and making sure that everything runs smoothly. By the time opening night arrives, my father and uncle will have nothing in the bank except a few emergency funds, none of which will sustain us long if we do not get a patron after the first performance."

Now Madame looked as though she were going to faint off of her chair. "You mean that there is no patron either?" she breathed, her hand over her chest.

I shook my head in reply. "The upper classes of Paris are too afraid to invest in the Populaire, fearing it is cursed. Perhaps, if the opening night goes well, there will be a patron and a steady flow of funds into the Opera House. For now, there is only the money my father and uncle have put into this place. Therefore, this 'Ghost' will receive nothing from us." I looked her in the eye. "Will you be able to tell him what I have told you? He deserves to know, if only to know why we haven't paid."

To my relief, Madame Giry nodded, a look of understanding on her face. "I will tell him, though I do not think he will listen," she warned me. "He will think you are lying; many have lied to him about this sort of thing before and it has only made him angry and vengeful."

"If he'd like to see our bookkeeping for this place, he's more than welcome to it," I snapped. "I mean no offense to you, Madame, as I know you to be a good woman. However, if this 'Ghost' can't understand what's going on, then he is a bigger fool than I thought."

Without waiting for a reply, I turned and stalked out of the room.

* * *

From his place behind the walls, Erik trembled in fury. How dare this woman pretend that there was no money in her family's accounts? Even Firmin and Andre had had money to pay him off occasionally! Those payments weren't as much as he had asked for, but it had been a good amount, nonetheless. If this girl thought that she could trick the Phantom, then she was all the more a fool. Money was the gateway to power; he needed those funds paid, if only to be sure that the new managers feared him and the things he would do to them if they did not. 

'_I will show them how serious I am about my salary_,' he mentally growled in her direction as she left Madame Giry's rooms. '_I know that you are hiding something from me_. _You will rule the day you and your family did not do as the Ghost demanded of you_!'

With a swirl of his cape, he descended down towards his underground domain.

* * *

I woke the next morning feeling a bit better than the night before. After cleaning up and dressing, I went and apologized to Madame Giry about the way I had acted the night before. She had forgiven me and said she would speak to the Ghost on my behalf, though she could not promise any leniency on his part. I told her I understood, and wished her luck before going to meet my aunts for breakfast. 

After a morning full of shopping, I was returning to my rooms in the hope of a nap when, on my way past the managers' offices, I saw a scene similar to that of the night before. My father and uncle were hovering over a note, though Uncle Gregory looked a bit more alarmed than ever before. Sighing, I brushed off my clothes and approached them, bracing myself for the worst.

"Aria," Uncle whispered, his voice full of panic and worry. "We've just received another note from the Ghost this morning."

I sighed. '_Well, there go my hopes of the man actually listening to me_,' I thought. Out loud, I said, "What does he want, exactly? Is he demanding more money?"

Papa shook his head. "Worse," he groaned, wiping a handkerchief over his face. "He wants his money _before_ opening night!"

"What?" I gasped. "Papa, we can't afford to pay him now, not before we know if the performance will be a success or not!"

"Don't you think we know that, you silly girl?" Uncle snapped as he glared at me.

I flinched; he had never used that tone with me before. Then I realized that I didn't deserve to be treated this way. After all, hadn't I warned him about the Ghost and everything that had happened years ago with the soprano?

"Don't you dare take that tone of voice with me!" I snapped back at him. "I warned you weeks ago, when that first note appeared! I told you that something like this would happen, and you didn't listen to me! '_We'll ignore it_,' you said! '_It's just a prank from one of the employees_,' you said! Well you were wrong, and it's your own fault, so you have no one to blame but yourself!"

Without waiting for them to speak, I turned and stomped out of the room.

* * *

I had spent the rest of the day locked inside my quarters, allowing only Meg inside when she came to bring me food and drink. The other members of the family realized that I was angry and stayed out of my way, knowing that I wouldn't be in the right mood for visitors. The only one I could tolerate was Meg, as her sweet face and humor was most welcome at keeping my dark thoughts at bay. After a while, though, she had to leave for rehearsals, and after promising to come back later in the evening for more conversation, she left me alone with my thoughts. 

However, I wasn't alone for very long, as my father saw the opportunity to talk to me as soon as Meg left. His familiar rhythmic knock sounded upon my door the moment I was alone, and since I couldn't refuse my father anything, I let him inside. He took a seat on a chair while I sat on my settee, clasping my hands in my lap as I waited for him to speak.

Papa sighed and reached out to take one of my hands in his. "I spoke with your uncle, and he admitted to hiding the first note from me," he said. "He admits he was wrong in doing so, and wishes to apologize to you tonight after dinner."

I nodded. "Yes, Papa." I wasn't much for talking when I was angry.

My father sighed once more, knowing I was still upset, but willing to continue talking with me. "Kitten," he said, squeezing my hand in a reassuring manner. "The Ghost said something else in his note, something that rather puzzles me as well as your uncle." He looked up to be sure I was listening. "This Ghost declared that, if we do not pay by the appointed time, he will take something that is valuable to me and destroy the Opera House instead."

My hands shot to my mouth, a shocked gasp escaping from my lips. "Oh, Papa!" I said, now beginning to panic. "Oh, Papa, what are we going to do?"

"I do not know, my sweetness, but I am assuming that he means to take something in trade for the money," he said, hanging his head.

Now _that_ was an interesting thought. "Something in trade?" I asked. "Like jewelry or something of that nature? Perhaps some of the bonds you keep locked in your office?"

The two of us quietly contemplated the situation. If the Ghost wanted money, he would have to wait until after opening night; if he wanted jewels in place of money, there was one solution…

"Father," I said, instantly catching his attention; I only called him '_father_' in situations like this. "Father, I could sell some of my jewelry in order to pay off the Ghost."

Papa gave me a tender look. "Aria, you don't have to do that," he said, patting me on the arm. "Your uncle and I will find a way to get out of this without the need to take away something of yours."

I shook my head. "You know very well that I care nothing for pretty gems, Papa," I said, giving him a true smile. "Grandmother and Grandfather always give me some sort of jeweled necklace, bracelet or ring that I will only wear once every few years. This means that I have many things to sell or put up for a loan until we can buy it back from the local jewelers. It is fine. I really do not mind, if it will save us from ruin in the future."

Never had I seen him look as proud of me as he did that night, wrapping me up in his arms tightly as he chuckled. "We will get through this, Aria," he whispered to me. "You will see."

I sincerely hoped so, for all of our sakes.

* * *

AN: Wasn't that nice of Aria to sacrifice her jewelry collection for the Opera House? Oh, and more Erik to come, I promise! Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks! 


	6. Payment of a Different Sort

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Finally, the moment everyone has been waiting for: getting abducted by Erik! I hope that it isn't too cliché or anything, but if it is, please let me know! Enjoy the chapter, and please review!

**Chapter 6: Payment of a Different Sort:**

After Papa left to retire for the night, I sat before my vanity, staring at my jewelry box. The light of the candles along the walls and of the fire in the fireplace flickered, causing the shadows to dance. Sighing, I reached out and caressed the case that held the solution to our financial predicament.

While my jewelry was quite valuable, the box that held them was just as costly. It was rather large, one foot by one foot, and at least six inches tall. It was made of smooth, polished ebony, and had elegant silver designs carved into the top and four sides. On the top of the box, the silver had been inlaid into the wood, creating a garden of vines, flowers, and leaves that sparkled in any sort of light. Along the four sides of the box were little flowers created from mother-of-pearl set into silver leaves. It was one of my most prized possessions, as it had been last gift my mother had given me before she left, taking my dear brother with her.

Reaching out, I carefully lifted the lid, smiling as a few chiming notes met my ear. It was not a music box, but Mother had asked someone to install a device to make a few pretty notes chime every time I opened it. The inside was lined with black velvet, making the jewels inside sparkle like silver and gold stars in the night sky. Father had wanted to reline it with blue velvet, as blue was my favorite color, but I wouldn't allow it; I loved the box just as it was, just as the way Mother had given it to me.

What I believed to be the ingenious thing about this box was that, if I pulled on one level of the box, it would swing out to reveal another layer beneath it. All together, there were three layers inside my jewelry box, each one with a specific kind of jewelry: the bottom layer held my necklaces and brooches, the middle held my heavier bracelets and hair clips, and the top section had my rings and smaller bracelets. While there was a great deal to choose from, the only things that I truly wore were the less glamorous rings and the lighter bracelets. I had no idea why Grandmother and Grandfather insisted on giving me jewelry, but I wasn't one to argue with my grandparents.

'_Besides, they will certainly be of good use now_,' I thought, swinging the top two sections aside to get to the necklaces.

Grandmother was particularly fond of neck decorations, and there was always one thing or another she thought might be to my liking. As it was, I had many pieces, most of them pendants and all of them ranging in color from pale blue to the deepest red. I hadn't even worn half of them, and those that _had_ graced my neck had only done so once. Unlike most women my age, I was not the sort of person to pour over gems and coo in admiration, so I merely tucked them aside and forgot about them.

"But which ones to I sell?" I asked aloud while looking them over. "Well, the topaz pendant can go…I never looked good in that sort of color in the first place. The pale yellow diamonds should be sold as well, since the color is hideous…Grandmother did say she had been a bit ill while buying them on her last voyage to England and couldn't tell what color they were until it was too late…"

For over an hour I poured through my collection, selecting things that I not only didn't need, but also things that did not suit me. Some of the jewelry I did like, very much so, and it was those that I spared. Besides, if my father and uncle owned the Populaire, I would have to look elegant and wear a bit of sparkle during the performances I attended.

In the end, I mostly chose necklaces and brooches. Most were too gaudy for my taste, so it was not difficult to be parted from them. After choosing which ones to sell to the local jewelry shops, I gently laid each piece aside on their own handkerchief and shut my jewelry box, putting it aside and pulling out another, plainer case. I then carefully wrapped each piece up and place it, one at a time, into the plain wood case that was lined with soft leather.

"Hopefully, when Papa takes these to be sold, they will fetch a good price," I said, staring sadly at my depleted ebony box. "It should be enough to pay off the Ghost, if only just this one time."

Picking up the wood case, I gently lifted it up and placed it on the other side of my vanity, the one closest to the door so that Papa would know which case to take. I sighed, rubbing my eyes in exhaustion before heading towards my room and getting into bed, blowing out the candle to leave me in quiet darkness.

I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

* * *

From his place behind the mirror, Erik watch Mademoiselle Aria Craven go through her jewelry box, pushing aside certain gems and picking out others, putting her selections onto small handkerchiefs before rolling them up and storing them into a box. 

'_What on earth is she doing_?' he thought, growing curious in spite of himself. '_Is she getting ready for a party_?'

It certainly didn't look as though she were picking out necklaces to wear to a ball or outing. Also, she was in her nightgown and it was far too late to attend a party. It was fascinating to watch, though, so Erik merely stood there, trying to decipher the puzzle of what she was doing with so much of her valuables. Perhaps she was debating what to send back with her aunts when they left? The mere thought of the newest visitors to the Populaire made him growl in the back of his mind.

'_Family_,' he thought, gritting his teeth.

The idea of this woman having such a loving and doting family infuriated him. He barely restrained himself from flying through the glass and shaking her, yelling at her to appreciate what she had and to cherish it. Taking a deep breath, Erik quickly calmed his mind down and tried to focus on her actions.

"Hopefully, when Papa takes these to be sold, they will fetch a good price," she was saying as she gazed sadly at the wooden box that now held only half of her jewels. "It should be enough to pay off the Ghost, if only just this one time."

For a moment, Erik could only stare at her in shock. Was this woman actually sacrificing her jewelry to pay his salary? If that were so, then perhaps she had spoken the truth to Madame Giry about the finances of her father and uncle, that all of their money was already sunk into the production of the next opera and that there was nothing left to pay him.

'_Perhaps I should change the day of payment_,' he thought to himself before shoving the idea aside.

No, he would keep a firm hand on this. The Cravens _would_ pay him on time, whether they liked it or not. If he grew soft and changed the date he demanded his funds, then they would think him weak and try to manipulate him in other ways. A Phantom could not afford to be weak. However, it would be foolish to try and take money that did not exist, except in the form of a young woman's most prized possessions.

As he watched Mademoiselle Craven retreat to her room for the night, Erik felt his lips turn downwards, forming a thoughtful frown.

'_I will have to resort to the threat I made in my note_,' he thought as the candlelight coming from underneath her bedroom door was slowly extinguished. '_I am afraid that I will have to take something of value from the older Cravens…something that they treasure above all others_.'

Grinning broadly, he twirled his cape and raced down to his lair.

* * *

The next two weeks passed quickly and without any incidents. No more notes had been sent demanding the Ghost's payment, and Papa had deemed it fit to hold off paying him until the opera opening in ten days. Unfortunately, my aunts and cousins were due to leave early tomorrow morning and could not attend the first performance. I watched in amusement as Kari and Andrea pouted and whined, but to no avail; they were due back home to resume their studies, and Grandmother apparently wanted her daughters back home to help redecorate a room in her house. 

"It's not fair," Kari pouted as we talked over tea. "I want to see the opera as much as anyone else does! I wish Mother had planned this trip differently!"

Today, Aunt Mary was out with her daughter, Andrea, shopping for a new hat, and Aunt Nancy had taken little Grace to the local toy shops to look for a new doll. Kari had claimed that she'd had enough shopping for one trip, and I had elected to stay behind so that we could talk. Of course, Kari had been delighted, since I was her favorite cousin; she felt that she could talk to me about anything and was exceedingly thankful that I wouldn't lecture her on things like her mother did.

I sighed and offered her a plate covered in tiny tea sandwiches. "Kari, you know perfectly well that there will be many other performances in the future, and that your mother will happily bring you and your sister here over the course of the year." I gave her a soothing smile. "Besides, one of those visits is bound to coincide with one opera performance or another!"

Now it was Kari's turn to sigh as she daintily took one of the sandwiches, carefully nibbling her way through it as she thought about what I had just said. She knew I was right, and I knew that Aunt Mary had given her the same talk at least once over the past week. However, since the statement was from me and not her mother, it was highly probable that she would actually listen to what I had to say.

"You're right," she grudgingly admitted. "And I know that you and Mother are right, but I so would like to see Uncle Roland and Uncle Gregory's first opera! It would be so exciting to see all of the Parisian woman in their finest gowns and jewels!"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, it will be a fine sight, and I'm sure that I will be a nervous wreck until after the whole thing is over with," I said, picking up a small pastry and nibbling on it.

"Oh, I'm sure that you will make a few friends," Kari replied with a smile. "Why, you might even find a nice Frenchman and fall in love with him!"

The thought made me choke on my pastry, and I had to take a drink of tea to wash it down. After coughing for a few moments, I sent her a glare even as she giggled at me. When I had finally calmed down, I barely resisted the urge to behave unladylike and throw a pastry at her.

"Kari Katherine Paine!" I exclaimed. "Shame on you, trying to play matchmaker with someone older and wiser than you!"

Kari merely chuckled and batted her eyelashes at me in a playful manner. "Now, Aria, you know I didn't mean anything by it," she said while raising her cup to her lips. Once she had taken a drink, she set it back down to its saucer and gave me a smile. "Besides, Grandmother is the one who usually tries to pair you up with someone, and I know how much you dislike it."

I bit back a groan and picked up a sandwich, taking a healthy bite out of it so that I did not have to answer her. It was true that Grandmother was often trying to find me a husband, and that she was worried that her eldest granddaughter would become an old maid. I knew that Grandmother wanted me to find love, but I had the distinct feeling that if I didn't fall in love and marry soon, she would probably arrange a marriage for me.

"Would it be possible to talk about something else?" I asked with a slight roll of my eyes.

Kari giggled and nodded. "Alright, but promise you'll write to me and tell me all about the opening night," she pleaded. "I want to hear about everything, from what the women were wearing to how smoothly the performance went."

After agreeing to her terms, all talk was diverted to chatter about the latest Parisian hairstyles.

* * *

What drove him to watch her like this was something he did not understand. True, he had spied on many people throughout his life, but something about Aria Craven pulled him towards her. Perhaps it was the simple, yet elegant way she wore her hair; he always did love women with long, silky brown hair. His Angel had borne brown curls and had sometimes worn it in a horse-tail, the only way she could pull it back without trouble. When a lock did escape, it only made her look sweeter. 

But Aria was different. Each morning he watched her style her straight, luxuriously thick red-brown locks, and never tired of seeing her hands gracefully put each strand into place. As was the present style, her hair was always pulled up to the back of her head, either up near the top or lower towards her neck. Sometimes there were painstakingly made curls on either side of her face, or there were simple, gently combed wings of hair covering her ears. If she had enough spare time during the day, she would make two small lengths of braids, one on each side of her temple to pull around a bun in order to make it more elegant. Watching her was like watching an artist sculpt a masterpiece.

As he watched her talk with one of her young cousins, Erik began to wonder why he found this particular young woman so fascinating. There were so many other, far more interesting and beautiful women working in the Opera House; why was he so determined to stand behind her mirror and watch her discuss fashion with her female family members?

'_Because, when she speaks of anything, even clothes and hairstyles, she sounds intelligent_,' he thought, staring hard at the giggling Miss Craven. '_She isn't foolish or vain, nor is she so focused on her looks that she thinks of nothing else in the world around her_.'

Better yet, she was never solely interested in frivolous things, such as wealthy marriages or social gossip. Oh, she joined into such discussions when her aunts inquired about certain things, but it was plain to see that Aria was not the sort to take pleasure from another person's misery or finances. The topics usually spilling from her lovely mouth usually included books, music, art, or something to do about the Opera House; anything else was of no interest to her.

It was then that an idea hit Erik so quickly that he nearly fell over from it. He had always longed to have someone to talk to about the arts, and here, no more than ten feet away from him, sat a woman who clearly enjoyed those things! In this young noblewoman, he had found a solution to his loneliness, a solution he valued at far more than twenty thousand francs.

'_She will be very good company for me_,' he thought, grinning as he watched her bid her cousin a farewell for the night. '_Of course, having her in my lair will help ensure her father and uncle's cooperation in future matters_…'

Chuckling to himself, the Phantom took one last look through the mirror and vanished underground.

* * *

It was late after my tea with Kari was over, and in attempting to keep her entertained until her mother and sister returned, I had used every conversation topic I could possibly think of. By the time I heard Aunt Nancy and Aunt Mary walking down the hallway to prepare themselves for dinner, I was so exhausted that I was nearly asleep on my feet. 

Instead of going to join them, I sent Kari ahead, telling her 'goodnight,' and asking her to tell the others I would be in bed. She reluctantly agreed and said that she would try and see me tomorrow before she left, though with the carriage leaving so early, there was little chance of that. I told her that I would see her again soon, no doubt, and kissed her goodbye, just in case I did miss her. I knew that the rest of the family would come in the morning to say farewell, and decided to go to bed early so that I could see them when they came.

Quickly changing into my nightdress, I began blowing out the candles and dimming the gas lamps, leaving just enough light for any maids to come in and tidy up the tea dishes. Once that was done, I pulled my hair out if its bun and took up my brush, pulling it through the strands of dark hair so that they wouldn't tangle. The motions soon had me in a soothing trance, and I quickly set the brush down before I fell asleep over my vanity. Sighing, I rose from the seat and stretched slightly, grateful to be out of my corset. Then I turned around, straight into the chest of a well-dressed man.

Looking up, I was shocked to see half a white mask on the right side of the intruder's face. He was unusually tall, taller even than my father, and he had the most wonderful, blazing, gold-flecked green eyes I'd ever seen, staring down at me. Despite the mask, the stranger was incredibly handsome, and his elegant evening attire only enhanced it.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that the Opera Ghost was masked; it had said so in the numerous papers and booklets that I had read in England. I had expected someone insane-looking, a man with mad eyes and who was frothing at the mouth; I had not thought that the person extorting money from my father would look like _this_! Why, the man had an air of superiority and intelligence about him! Why would he need to take money from another human being in this manner?

'_It must be the mask_,' I thought, my eyes drifting towards it. '_That is what sets him apart from the rest of humanity_. _You poor soul, what could have happened in your life to turn you into this_?'

I was so preoccupied with my examination of the Ghost that I had neglected to pay attention to any of his actions. Suddenly, I felt him plant his hand firmly in the small of my back, pulling me flush against his body. Parting my lips to cry out, I felt a cloth go over my mouth, my nose filling with a sickly-sweet smell. A moment later, darkness came, and I knew no more.

* * *

Carefully placing a note on her vanity, Erik then swept the unconscious Aria into his arms and over his shoulder, a proud smirk on his face as he carried his burden through the mirror. Silently shutting the glass behind him, he hurried downwards through the dark caverns to his home.

* * *

AN: Well, there's the abduction! The next chapter will be better and longer, I promise! Review! 


	7. Caverns of Despair

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: And now every Phantom-fan's dream: waking up in Erik's home! For most, it's a fantasy come true; for our heroine, not so much. I hope that everyone enjoys reading the chapter and will leave a review! I live for your reviews!

**Chapter 7: Caverns of Despair**:

A deep darkness was all around me, and I did everything I could to escape it. A light was shining though my closed eyes, and as soon as I was ready, I drifted towards it. When I woke, I could feel cool, damp air on my face, though the rest of me was quite warm and comfortable. My eyelids were too heavy to open, so I kept them closed and tried to find out where I was by using the rest of my senses, much like in one of the games my father and I had played together when I was a child.

Sniffing, I could smell damp, cool, clean air drifting by me, as well as the scent of burning wax candles. The candles must have been fragranced, for I could detect the slightest hint of sandalwood and flowers in the room. I continued to think that, if the candles weren't scented, then perhaps I was in someone's home, as sandalwood was quite expensive and only used in the homes of wealthy people, such as my Grandmother's sitting room or Grandfather's study.

Beneath my hands, I could feel silk and velvet materials, which furthered my theory that I was in the home of a wealthy personage. My fingers drifted and stretched as far to the left and right as I could reach, trying to feel how large the bed I was occupying was. All I could feel was silk and velvet, which meant a very luxurious bed, and since I didn't encounter any open air, it was a very large bed as well. A lavish, oversized bed almost secured my idea of being in a rich person's home, but I decided against settling on the idea until I knew more.

Tilting my head to the side, I could hear water dripping somewhere. Was it raining outside? The weather had been perfectly sunny for the past several days, but had a storm come up unexpectedly? Listening closer, I realized that it wasn't rain falling from a windowsill; growing up in England, I knew what all sorts of falling rain sounded like, and this was not it. So if it wasn't rain, what was it? Where else could have dripping water?

'_A cave_,' I thought, freezing in place. '_I must be in a cave_!' It would certainly explain the cool air, the dampness and the water. But where in Paris were there caves?

Thinking it over, I tried not to berate myself for not researching the French city. Of course, what were the chances that someone had written some sort of book about underground caves in Paris? It did not seem very likely, which meant I would have to rethink what I already knew about where I was.

'_Wait_.' My thoughts came to an abrupt halt. '_Meg said that the Opera Ghost lived beneath the Populaire_. _What if that is where I am now_?'

During our time alone together, Meg had related to me all of the events that had occurred five years ago. Apparently the soprano that had been the Ghost's obsession had also been Meg's closest friend, so Meg had been able to see and hear about everything that had occurred during that time. The little blonde ballerina had also informed me of her mother's attempts to shield her from what was going on, but her friendship with Miss Christine Daae had put her in the center of everything.

'_So a slightly deformed madman, one who lives underneath the Opera House, has kidnapped me and brought me to his underground lair_,' I thought to myself. '_Wonderful_.'

It was bad enough that he wanted more money in one month than most families make in ten years, but to kidnap the daughter and niece of the Populaire's managers? What could he possibly want with me? Papa would surely pay him off with the money he was selling my jewelry for, so why take me now?

By now my eyes felt as though they could open, and open them I did. The first thing I saw was a black, lacy curtain sheltering me from the rest of the world. Looking around, I spotted a black cord dangling nearby, which I immediately tried to get up and reached for. My head spun for a moment, but quickly settled, allowing me to sit up and regain my bearings. After I felt well enough, I reached for the black cord and gave it a gentle pull, which raised the curtain slightly. Feeling more certain of myself, I raised it the rest of the way and looked around the room I was in.

As I suspected, I was in a cave of some sort. Gray stone walls lined with flickering lamps told me of my prison, and since the stone was obviously uncut, I was certainly within a cave. Since I was no longer behind a cloth veil, the air around me became cooler and damper, making me shiver. Looking down, I saw that I was still in my nightdress.

'_He kidnapped me while I was getting ready for bed_,' I thought, remembering what had happened. '_I turned around and he was standing right there_!'

But how did he get into my room? I always locked the door while I was changing and before I went to bed, so there was no possible way for him to get in that way. Did he have a key to my rooms? No, I would have heard him unlock the door and enter, if he had. The idea of him hiding somewhere within the suite was possible, but unlikely; after all, he would have no way of knowing when I would be in my room or when I would be going to bed if he hid there all day.

'_Could he have been watching me somehow_?' I thought, nibbling my lower lip in thought.

Now _there_ was a frightening idea. However, Meg _had_ said that the Ghost had watched Miss Daae for nearly ten years before she realized who he was, and before he had revealed himself to her. Also, the man obviously needed ways to see if the managers of the Opera House were obeying him or not, so secret passageways or eyeholes in the walls had to exist in _some_ parts of the Populaire.

'_And if he used one of these secret passageways to take me, then there is no possible way for Papa and Uncle to know what has happened_,' I realized as my hands began to shake.

I felt myself begin to panic. I could instantly imagine what my father would do once he found out I was missing from the Opera House. Of course, he would be spending the morning saying 'farewell' to my aunts and cousins, but afterwards, when he came to check on me and found the bed empty and not slept in…

'_He'll summon the authorities, send letters to all of the family, and tear all of Paris or France apart in order to find me_. _Oh, poor Papa_!'

However, all matters would have to wait until I found my abductor and begged him to let me go. I sincerely hoped that he would see reason. However, I couldn't help thinking that, if he _were_, in fact, a reasonable man, then he wouldn't have taken me from my bedroom during the night, and he certainly wouldn't fancy himself a ghost who could embezzle money from my family!

Taking a deep breath to calm myself down, I carefully edged closer to the right side of the bed and looked over. There on the floor were my slippers, both of which had good solid leather soles and were made up of thick materials to keep my feet warm in the coldest of winter weather. I had been wearing them upstairs in my room, so the Ghost must have removed them while I was unconscious.

After swinging my legs over the side and slipping my feet into their coverings, I stretched out my muscles, checking for any sort of injuries I may have sustained during my transport here or while I was resting in the bed (though given the lush comfort of the mattress, the sheets and the pillows, there was probably very little chance of that). Once I was ready, I stood up and quietly shuffled to the opening of the room/cave.

To my surprise and awe, there was a lake spread out before me, not even ten feet down and away from where the tips of my shoes were. Never in my dreams could I have imagined there being a _lake_ underneath the Opera House! How could the builders have missed this being here? Even if the Ghost had his home down here, it was unlikely that anyone would miss its existence…

Looking to my right, I saw dozens of gilded candelabras, each one holding a dozen lit candles. The numerous candles held the darkness of the caves at bay, the flickering lights reflecting off of the water and sending it back into the cavern. Along the walls were velvet drapes or hangings, probably meant to add a bit of color to the bleak gray stone. To my amazement, there was a perfectly polished organ in the room, though how it had been brought here was a mystery to me. From behind the large instrument beamed a mysterious source of light, one that was steady and bright, much like sunlight or moonlight. It was incredible that the Ghost could get such an enormous amount of light down here, and despite my situation, I was quite impressed with the man who lived here.

Scanning the room with my eyes, I noticed that there were dozens of sheets of paper all over the floor, the organ, and on the numerous tables and desks that were set here-and-there in the cave. A lovely red couch sat perpendicular to the organ and its bench, and there was a mahogany table before it, also covered in paper. I spotted a few dirty tea cups and dishes, which made me smile; there was only one sort of person who could live like this and get away with it.

'_Bachelor_,' I instantly thought to myself with a small giggle. How odd it felt to laugh at such a time, but it still felt good. Besides, I needed a good laugh.

Walking down the three steps it took to get to the main floor of the cave, I began picking up random pages and looking at them. Some were drawings of sculptures, possibly future creations the Ghost would work on, since they were unlike anything I had ever seen before. Most of the papers, though, were of compositions for operas, which astounded me. Was the Ghost a _composer_? It shouldn't have surprised me, since he lived beneath an opera house, but I was still quite astonished at the discovery.

Setting the papers down, I turned around…and bumped straight into the chest of my captor.

* * *

He had been watching her for quite some time, ever since she had stepped out of the Phoenix Room. From his perch behind one of the velvet drapes, Erik had watched his pretty hostage stare out over the lake before moving on to explore his house. When she picked up one of his compositions or artistic sketches, however, it took all of his restraint not to rush up and snatch the precious parchments out of her hands. Instead, he let her examine them and studied her expression as he did so. 

As he had expected, Mademoiselle Craven's face showed how impressed she was with his music, as well as his plans for future art pieces. Her brown eyes twinkled as she looked at the papers in her hands, almost as though she could hardly wait for some of them to be completed. For some reason, this warmed his heart, and he found himself eager to reveal himself to her. Stepping out from behind the drape, he slipped up behind her and waited for her to turn around. When she did so, she bumped right into his chest, just as she had last night.

"Good morning, mademoiselle," he greeted her politely. "I trust you had a good rest?"

To his surprise, she stiffened and glared up at him. "Considering it was a _drugged_ rest, I suppose the answer would be 'yes,' _monsieur_," she snapped before turning away with a slightly indignant huff.

In spite of himself, Erik felt an amused smile spread across his face at her little burst of temper. "Excellent," he said, bringing her attention back to him. "Would you care for some breakfast?"

She turned and looked at him, suspicion gleaming in her eyes. "_You_ want to offer me breakfast?" she asked. "Why would you want to do such a thing?"

Amused, his smile got wider and just a little bit arrogant. "Well, it would be rude of me not to feed you," he said. "After all, you are my guest, and will continue to be so until I decide to release you."

Hope suddenly gleamed in her dark brown eyes. "You're going to let me go?" she asked.

"No, I'm afraid not," Erik replied. When her hopeful expression wilted, he quickly added, "Not for quite some time, at least."

As she sat down on the couch, Erik felt an unusual sensation in his chest. It was an emotion that he had not experienced very often in his life, and when he had, it had mostly concerned his former Angel. He knew that what he felt was guilt, and he did not like it. Guilt had forced him to let his Christine go, her beautiful voice drifting into the darkness as she and her beloved Raoul left him in his misery. He would not let that emotion win this time; he would keep a firm grip on it and destroy it so that he would not be weak in this matter.

Standing taller, he said to her, "I will fetch your meal." Turning quickly, he vanished into his kitchen.

* * *

I watched as the Ghost disappeared into another section of the cavern. Since he apparently lived down here, there obviously had to be enough room to store all of his belongings, as well as space to eat, sleep, cook, and bathe. 

'_Or, at least, I **hope** he bathes…preferably someplace other than the lake_,' I thought, glancing at the water. It looked terribly cold, and I knew that I would never bathe there for fear of becoming ill.

Thinking back to our recent talk, I went over the Ghost's appearance in my head. He was very tall, at least six feet in height, and had broad shoulders that tapered to a slim waist. He wore a white shirt that was unbuttoned to the top of his chest, and the black pants that clung to his legs were tucked into equally black boots. A black sash was wrapped around his waist, and of course, there was a white mask on the right side of his face.

'_Either he wears it to intimidate people or because he has some sort of facial deformity_.' I chewed my lower lip as I tried to think.

With or without the mask, this Ghost was quite a handsome man. With his physical height and build, his green-gold eyes and chiseled featured were enough to make any woman swoon. His hair was lush and dark, elegantly smoothed back from his face, and there was an adorable clef right in the center of his chin. For some reason, my thumb wanted to run itself over that clef. Even if he was deformed, it was certainly not taking away from his looks!

The sound of approaching footsteps shook me from my thoughts, and my eyes drifted towards the man who now had me at his mercy. There was a silver tray in his hands, a plain white tea pot, cup, saucer, and a platter of eggs, sausage and toast. Silver eating utensils were perfectly placed on a red napkin, and to my surprise, the food steamed as though it had just been made. After the tray was set on the table before me, the Ghost stepped back and watched me as I inspected the meal.

"It is not poisoned, mademoiselle," he said with amusement. "I would have nothing to gain from harming you. Believe me when I say that you are more valuable to me alive than dead."

Technically, that was true, so I picked up the napkin, spread it across my lap and reached for the plate of food. Realizing that it would be difficult to cut the sausages with the plate on my lap, I picked up the knife and fork and cut everything into small bites. By the time I was done, the food was no longer steaming, but I didn't mind. Instead, I picked up the plate and began to slowly and politely eat everything that had been provided.

As I ate, the Ghost moved forward and poured a cup of what appeared to be hot chocolate for me. I was shocked at the kind gesture, but managed to hide it. When the food was gone, I sipped the still-warm chocolate and was able to finish half of it before my stomach protested against any additional helpings. Setting down the cup, I watched as he picked up the tray and carried it off, leaving me alone once more. With the food and chocolate warming my body, I lost myself in thought.

'_There has to be a way for me to get out of here_,' I reasoned. '_If we got down here by using secret passages, there must be a way back up_!'

Taking hold of that idea, I tried to weigh the possibilities in my mind. I _could_ try and escape, but whether I succeeded or not depended on the number of caves there were down here. If there were only one or two underground corridors leading up to the Opera House, then it would be simple; should there be a dozen passages or more, then I would probably spend days wandering around down here before finding my way back.

'_No. As much as it pains me to consider it, I believe it would probably be best to remain down here_.'

But perhaps I would be able to persuade the Ghost to release me? If he was only holding me for the money that Papa and Uncle Gregory owed him, I could probably convince him to trade me for the amount owed to him. If the Ghost wanted more money, all he had to do was send word to my father and his demands would easily be met. Why did he feel the need to keep me here for longer than was necessary?

'_I highly doubt that he **wants** me here_,' I thought to myself with a small smile. '_In all likelihood, he probably has never had people in his home. Well, except for that soprano he abducted, and I heard that she was a beauty. I am not a singer, nor am I pretty enough to want to keep as a prisoner, so perhaps the art of persuasion is one that I can work on him_.'

Behind me came the sound of breathing, which I hadn't heard until that moment. Whirling around, I saw that the Ghost had lived up to his name; he had snuck up on me unheard, which was difficult to do, considering the sound that his boots should make on a stone floor.

"Oh!" I gasped, placing a hand over my chest. "You startled me!"

He smirked. "It is what I do," he commented. "Now, what troubles you so, Mademoiselle Craven?"

"Aria," I said. "My name is Aria. May I ask what yours is? I can hardly call you Opera Ghost when it is obvious you are a man."

Why I felt the need to give my name and to ask for his was beyond me. He also seemed surprised about my request for his name, but his expression soon became blank as he stared at me with those eyes of his…those fascinating green-gold eyes that seemed to stare right into my mind and read what was hidden there. His eyebrows seemed to rise and come together as he thought of a reply to my question.

"I am Erik, but you will never tell another soul my name," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is that understood? To the rest of the world I will remain the Opera Ghost or the Phantom of the Opera, nothing else."

I could almost see the air darken around him as he attempted to intimidate me. My body went cold as I felt the power of his eyes going right down into my heart, and I shivered. I wanted to tell him what a nice name he had, but did not dare, fearing that he would believe me to be humoring him. Instead, I kept my mouth shut tight and nodded.

He nodded in turn and went over to a desk that was positioned right beside the organ. Erik (for I refused to call him Opera Ghost unless I had to) then pulled open one of the drawers and picked up a small portable writing desk. Closing the drawer and walking back towards me, he stopped an arms length away from me and held out the desk with his hand. Looking up into his eyes, I swallowed hard at the cold look that was being directed at me.

"You will write a letter to your father and uncle, telling them about the new situation that they have placed themselves in," he ordered as I accepted the desk. "Tell them that I mean to keep you here with me until I am certain about their following my demands."

I stared at him in shock. "But they are going to pay you!" I cried out in panic. "They will pay! I'm sure they will have the money by the end of today, if only you will give them time!"

A glare from Erik's eyes halted my protests. "Yes, they will pay, but you will be useful in assuring that my future demands are met," he coldly stated. "You will remain here with me, Aria Craven, until I am sure of your father and uncle." One of his fingers tapped the top of the desk. "Now, write out the message. I will read it once you are finished and will deliver it to upstairs on my next trip to the Opera House."

I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I opened the desk and pulled out a piece of paper.

* * *

Looking over the letter that Aria had written, Erik felt a chaotic mixture of emotions churn inside him. He was impressed that she had managed to write such a convincing note, one that seemed genuinely convince the reader that she was well even though she was presently being held as a captive. In her letter, Aria assured her father that she was well, but that it would be best if, in the future, he did as the Ghost asked him. A quick note of the need to pay his salary followed, and was signed in an elegant hand. Impressed, Erik had nodded his approval before preparing for a small trip to Mademoiselle Aria's former quarters. 

As he carried the message upstairs, a pang of guilt once again shot through his chest. He had seen the tears that Aria had wept while writing the note, and he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at the notion of separating her from her family. However, at the same time, he felt angry that he had never in his life had a family to miss or to miss him in return, which ruined all sympathy in his heart.

It was with those cold feelings that he placed Aria's message on the vanity in her room and returned to his home…and to his prisoner.

* * *

AN: Aw, Erik feels bad…well, sort of. It's going to be a long story, so please review! Thanks! 


	8. The Home Beside the Lake

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Wow, I can't believe how many people like this story! You guys rock! Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews; they help to keep my muses happy! Enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 8: The Home Beside the Lake:**

Early morning saw the Craven family bustling about the Opera House, which was already in a state of chaos. Bad enough that they had a performance in less than two weeks to be ready for, but now they had to help the managers' sisters in their departure at an ungodly hour! Servants scrambled to lug heavy trunks down stairs and hoist them into the back of the waiting carriages. Meanwhile, the cook, who was always up before dawn, served a fairly adequate breakfast to the departing guests while the other staff members hurried to make sure that nothing was forgotten.

In all of the hustle and bustle, no one missed Mademoiselle Aria Craven until the guests were almost handed into their carriages. The young cousins wished to say 'goodbye' to their doting Aria, but Roland Craven merely shook his head, claiming that it was early and that Aria had been exhausted the night before.

"You will see her again soon, my dears," he said with a laugh at their pouting faces. "I'm sure you will all be back within a few months, and have plenty to talk about then. For now, it's time to go."

Despite their children's protests, both of their mothers agreed. As all of the departing company climbed into their carriages, everyone promised to exchange letters, send telegraphs, and to make sure that family members came up with a better plan for their next or first trips to France. When dawn came, the females were on their way to the train station, where their bags were already arriving.

As they waved goodbye to their sisters, it should be noted that Roland and Gregory Craven, managers/owners of the Opera Populaire, were far more worried than they appeared. Roland Craven knew that his daughter dearly loved to sleep late, but she would _never_ do so while family members were leaving. If there was one thing that Aria took seriously in life, it was playing the role of hostess to its fullest; she would never miss saying goodbye to departing family!

Concerned that she was ill in some way, Roland headed upstairs to his daughter's room, knocking gently on the door to be sure that he didn't disturb her. Remembering that there was another door inside the suite that led to the bedroom, Roland opened the front entry door and quietly crept to the bedroom door, knocking on it in the hopes that Aria would call out an answer. When none came, he cracked open the door and peered inside. What he saw nearly made his heart stop.

There stood her bed, completely made and looking as though it had not been slept in.

Panicking, Roland Craven spun on his heels and began searching the room for some sign of struggle. A quick glance told that no fight had occurred, but there were two envelopes sitting on the vanity. One was written in a hand and red ink he knew all too well; facing him was the red wax seal in the form of a skull, one that always seemed to mock the letter's receiver. The Ghost had been here, and had he taken Aria! Furious, Roland snapped up the note and tore it open, his eyes hurriedly scanning the message.

* * *

_Gentlemen,_

_I have now sent you numerous messages concerning my monthly salary, and you have disobeyed me. As previously stated, if the funds were not paid in due time, then it was intended that I take something of value to you both. In the stead of the twenty thousand francs that was to be given, I have taken a creature that, in my own personal opinion, is worth at least that amount. Tonight, a precious jewel now belongs to me in the form of Monsieur Roland Craven's greatest treasure: his daughter, Aria._

_Have no fear, gentlemen, for the lovely mademoiselle is to be my distinguished guest until such times that I grow weary of her presence. For now, I expect the opening night of '**The Magic Flute**' to go on as planned; after all, there is still the salary that you will owe me for next month to consider! You will simply have to explain to the public that the dear lady has been called home to England on an important matter. What that matter is, I care not, so long as it prevents fools from asking questions._

_Since I already have this month's funds in the shape of Mademoiselle Craven, I will not be interfering in the success of the performance. However, I will be watching it from one of my accustomed spots in the Populaire, and will be critiquing your efforts in making my Opera House glow once more. I have faith that you will attract the attention of a patron after that night, and will follow future instructions on how to run my Opera House to the letter from this day onwards._

_I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant,_

_O.G._

_P.S.: To ease your minds, I have included a message from dear Aria with this note._

* * *

Inhaling sharply, Roland picked up the next message and read through it. It was short, but it was in Aria's handwriting. The letters were smooth and elegant, though a tad shaky, meaning that she had been relatively calm and unharmed while writing it. 

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Roland read what his beloved child had to say.

* * *

_Dearest Papa,_

_The Ghost has allowed me to compose this short message in an effort to sooth both you and Uncle Gregory, and to keep you from worrying. I assure you that I am unharmed, though more than a little frightened at what has happened. Apparently, I am to stay with the Ghost as a hostage in his home until he feels sure that you will both obey all of his wishes concerning his demands. At present, he still expects the money that is owed him, and wants it quickly. Please, do everything he asks when it concerns the welfare of his beloved Opera House! It is the only way for me to return to you sooner._

_I love you both and hope to see you soon. _

_Love,_

_Aria_

* * *

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Roland clutched both notes in his hand and ran to find his brother. Something had to be done to find Aria, and hopefully Gregory would be a bit more clear-headed in order to think of a plan that could be carried out with no harm to his beloved daughter.

* * *

After composing the letter to Papa, I was allowed to explore the confines of the Ghost's cavern. It was actually quite a bit larger than I thought it would be, and so I had a great deal to occupy myself with as I tried not to think about my father and uncle. Hopefully, exploring the cave would prevent me from thinking about what they would likely be doing and feeling just now, especially after receiving both my note and the Ghost's. 

In the back of my mind, I tried to think of the Ghost/Phantom as Erik, until I realized that he was of both personalities: one was Erik the man, and the other was the Phantom persona that he donned to 'haunt' the Populaire. It was quite fascinating to reflect on…while I was trying not to be frightened of that same man who currently holding me prisoner, of course.

At the present time, it was Erik and not the Ghost showing through. He had delivered my note over an hour ago, and was currently seated before his organ, composing a new opera or song. His fingers danced over a few notes, and when he reached one particular note or another, the fingers would stop. They would then hover over the ivory keys for a moment, as though he were contemplating that particular section. An instant later, those hovering fingers were snatching up a quill up in order to write the series of notes down before he forgot them.

For a short while, this was amusing, but I soon became bored, and that was a terrible thing to happen. I am a curious person by nature, as I'm sure most people are, and so when I had nothing to amuse myself with, I let my eyes wander, my mind following close behind. My eyes drifted towards a particular hallway that I had seen him walk through earlier, and I felt the urge to see where it lead. Of course, not wanting to be rude to the person who had me at his mercy, I tried to cough in order to get his attention. Startled, Erik whirled around on his bench, apparently having forgotten I was there.

"What is it?" he snapped, glaring at me from behind his mask.

"I'm sorry, monsieur," I said, giving him a polite nod. "But I was wondering if I could explore your home, if only for a little while." I then gave him a small, genuine smile. "It looks fascinating."

For a moment, he eyed me as though trying to see if I were lying to him. "Very well," he said, turning back towards his music. "You may explore my house. Just be sure not to touch anything!"

Since one of my mother's favorite rules for me was '_look, but don't touch_,' I had no problem with this command. "Thank you, Monsieur," I softly replied while walking towards that hallway.

"My name is Erik," he said, not looking up from his work. "You may call me by that name."

Having nothing to say to this, I merely walked away, my eyes focused on the door closest to my left. After pushing the door open, I found, to my surprise and utter embarrassment, that I had stumbled upon Erik's bedroom! I knew it to be his from the amount of men's clothing scattered around the room, some of which I was sure needed a good wash. Also, I saw various half-masks, all of which had been put on mannequin heads along a table at the rear of the room. Some masks covered just the right side of the face, while others covered the top half, all of them sure to cover whatever marked Erik's handsome features.

'_The poor man_,' I thought, my eyes slowly scanning the room. '_He has such a beautiful face, and yet, when only a small portion of it is flawed, all the world turns against him_.'

In the center of the room was a large mahogany bed covered in dark blue sheets. Several wardrobes and dressers lined the walls, and at the foot of the bed was a wooden chest. Not wanting to disturb Erik's privacy, I quietly backed out of the room and shut the door. Leaving that room behind, I moved on to the next one, which was a rather large workroom.

Actually, it was a series of workrooms, all of which had amazing and beautiful masterpieces that were crafted by a caring and passionate hand. I saw tables with music boxes, sculptures, paintings, models, and carvings, all in various stages of completion; I even spotted a table with tiny pieces of jewelry ready to be made. One particular table looked interesting, and to my inexperienced eye, it appeared to be an inventing table. Blueprints for numerous devices were scattered around this bench, and while I longed to pick up something just to see what it was, I remembered that I wasn't to touch anything.

'_I shall have to ask Erik what he is working on and how it works_,' I thought as I carefully wove my way amongst the pieces of artwork. '_He truly is brilliant to be able to make all of these things_!'

The fascinating thing about these workrooms was that you could easily see one workroom from another, all of which were connected with stone archways. It was through one of the archways that I could see a different, completely separate work area, one that was connected to the cavern by the lake. From where I was, I could hear Erik composing his opera, and since I didn't want to risk breaking something he was working on, I quickly slipped out of the work areas and back to the hallway to continue my explorations.

Across the hall from the workrooms was a place that could easily become my favorite hideaway while I was here: the library. It should not have surprised me that Erik was a lover of books, especially since he was so gifted in creating art. Any artist would have to exercise his mind while he was not working, so a large room filled floor-to-ceiling with books was to be expected. I found literary writings from nearly all of the famous authors of today, as well as numerous classic Greek, Roman, Italian, and Asian writers, most of which I had never heard of. On one side of the room was a fireplace with two chairs standing before it, each with two tall oil lamps that could be lit for cozy reading at any time.

My fingers joyfully caressed each book spine, my eyes eagerly drifting over the titles. The topic of each book was different, and the subjects included science, philosophy, astronomy, and fiction. Even my father didn't have so many books, and he was considered the scholar of the family! Despite my being held as a prisoner, my opinion of Erik was rising considerably with each hint of his intelligence.

'_If he's as brilliant as I think he is, perhaps I will be able to persuade him to release me_.' I sighed and turned to leave the room. '_The least I could hope for is a **reasonable** genius_!'

After leaving the library, I discovered another door that appeared to be locked. When I turned the knob, it would not open, but when I gave a firm push, it gave way. Perhaps it had not been locked properly, or even locked at all, but when I saw what was inside of the tiny room, I thought that perhaps it should have been more secured than it already was.

There in the center of the room was a replica of a lovely young woman clad in a white dress, a woman that I could only guess to be Christine Daae. If the reproduction of the woman was exact, then she was very tall and slender, almost willowy in height and weight. A wig of brown curls sat atop the head, and wide, innocent eyes stared out at whoever stood before it. I could not tell what color the eyes were, but they seemed to be a bit dazed; if the eyes were an exact likeness of Christine, then the girl must have been innocent and naïve to the point of foolishness.

'_Perhaps she still thinks babies are brought to women by the stork_!' I smothered a giggle at the thought. '_Well, she certainly looks like a young woman in body, but her eyes tell of a child's soul_. _No wonder she was terrified of what had happened to her_ _here at the Opera House_!'

After I had read about the fire, I had fantasized about it in my deepest, darkest imagination. At night, I dreamed what it would have been like growing up here, in the magic and wonder of the Opera Populaire and underneath the gaze of the mysterious Opera Ghost. Just the thought of a tall, dark, handsome man of the shadows falling in love with me sent the most wonderful thrill up my spine. While reading the most current news about Mademoiselle Daae and her fiancé (now husband), Raoul de Chagny, I had come to think that the young soprano was rather foolish to have chosen the Count.

'_However, if she truly was as innocent and naïve as she appears through this likeness, then perhaps the Count was a better choice_,' I pondered as my eyes drifted around the room, looking at the numerous portraits and dried roses scattered about the walls. '_I do not think that she would have been able to survive down here for very long. She appears almost fragile, not only in body, but also in mind and spirit_; _no doubt that she would have faded and died here, feeling terrified_ _for her life_.'

No, Christine Daae was not the sort to dwell in darkness, and she had been right to leave. However, the least she could have done was simply tell Erik that she did not love him, not drag herself and everyone around her into that terrible scene! Oh, well, that was life, I suppose. I could easily see why he had fallen in love with her, though _why_ he was still in love with her was something I could not understand. So, deciding to let things be, I left the shrine and made sure to secure the door behind me.

As I made my way back to the main cavern, I realized that I was famished. My eyes caught sight of a clock standing upon one of the tables and I instantly blinked in surprise. It was almost time for lunch! Goodness, how long had I been wandering through those rooms? It certainly didn't feel like very long. Well, my stomach declared that it was time to eat, and from the sound of organ music coming from the other room, Erik would not take an interruption very kindly.

Shaking my head, I made my way to the only other room I had yet to investigate: the kitchen. Opening random cupboards and drawers, I found the place remarkably well-kept and well-stocked in everything from bread to silverware. After I had examined every bit of food in the pantry, I began to think of something for the both of us to eat.

* * *

Sighing, Erik laid down his quill and paper to stretch his arms. He knew he had been composing for hours, thus purposely avoiding his guest. It was rude of him, of course, but what did a Phantom need with manners? He had no one to teach him how to act, so he would simply act out as he willed. 

Rubbing his eyes to bring some life back to him, Erik opened them to a most surprising sight. There on his organ sat a covered tray and a cup which held something that steamed. Curious, he hesitantly reached out and touched the lid with a finger.

'_It could be a trick of some kind_,' he thought to himself. '_Someone could be playing games with me_.'

But the only other person down by the lake with him was his little guest, Aria Craven, and she hardly seemed like the sort to play a horrible prank, particularly not her present captor. Leaning forward, Erik sniffed the area near the tray and inhaled the enticing aroma of some sort of broth. His stomach growled to remind him that breakfast had been ages ago, and before he could stop himself, his hand had lifted the lid.

It was soup, one that was full of cooked vegetables, and sitting beside it on a plate was a chicken sandwich. Someone had taken one of the roasted chickens Madame Giry had brought him and had made it into a delicious-looking sandwich. The cup held hot tea, and beside that was a tiny plate with several sugar cubes, and an even tinier cup held a bit of cream for the tea.

'_Aria made me lunch_,' Erik thought, not sure if he could believe it or not.

She was a noblewoman, and somehow she had made him a meal! Madame Giry rarely cooked for him, instead bringing him things that had already been cooked so that he could help himself to it. The only times Madame had cooked was when he was extremely ill, and since he was most certainly not ill now, the only logical explanation was that Aria Craven had made him lunch.

Not wanting to insult her, Erik picked up the bowl and the spoon included with it, hesitantly taking a small sip. To his surprise, it was quite good, and he devoured the whole thing in moments. Quickly setting the bowl aside, Erik then picked up the sandwich and savored the taste of the chicken, bread and mustard as it all came together inside his mouth. When that was finished, he happily over-sugared his tea and drank it down, feeling contently full for the first time in his life.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," teased a female voice from his right.

Turning, Erik saw Aria standing there, still in her nightgown and robe. "I did," he replied. "I do not eat a great deal, and when I do, it isn't much. That was one of the most filling meals I have ever had."

To his pleasure, she blushed. "Well, you have yourself to thank for that," she said with a small smile. "There was a roast chicken in the pantry, and a previously made broth I found on the stove, so I made do with what I had. And your tea selection is quite impressive, for a Frenchman."

Erik found himself chuckling at her words. "From an Englishwoman, I shall take that as a compliment," he stated, bowing his head slightly.

Good God, was he actually joking with this woman? He never joked, nor did he think that he had any sort of humor dwelling within him! What power did this woman, this _Aria_, have to make him act so unlike his normal self? Pushing the thought aside, Erik looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I did not think that the English nobility knew how to cook," he commented.

Again, she blushed. "Well, when I was little, I would often become bored with the lessons my mother would teach me and hide in the kitchen," Aria explained. "The cook kindly hid me until my mother gave up her search for me, then she would drag me out to help her cook. It was supposed to be my payment for her hiding me, but I found that I liked cooking things, which surprised the both of us."

Erik nodded in understanding. "I, too, look for other interests when I become bored," he said. Giving her a closer look, he tilted his head to the side in thought. "You cannot walk around here in your nightdress," he stated. "I will bring you some of your clothing either tonight or tomorrow. It can be a bit cold here by the lake, and it would bode ill with us should you become sick with something."

Without another word, he turned back to his organ and his music.

* * *

He had surprised me with his compliments on my food, though I didn't think it was much. I had been taught to make many things, and soup had been one of the first lessons Mrs. Gardener had taught me; I could easily bake, fry, and boil anything, thanks to my kitchen lessons. But to be complimented on mere soup from a man in a mask…that was something no one else could boast about. 

'_And he offered to bring me clothes_,' I thought as I made my way to the library to pass the time. '_He doesn't want me to become ill_!'

But was he truly thinking of me, or was he thinking of my being his financial connection to my uncle and father? Only time would tell…

* * *

AN: Aw, Erik's a softie…sort of. Please review! Thanks! 


	9. Underground

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: I'm thinking that people will get tired of reading about life with the Phantom, so there will be sprinkles of Aria's father and uncle in places of the story, just to make things more interesting…or boring, depending on the reader's POV. Anyway, enjoy, and please review!

**Chapter 9: Underground:**

Gregory Craven scanned the documents one again before looking up at his older brother. Roland was pacing back and forth across the carpet, his face a mixture of fear and worry. He hadn't stopped moving ever since he came crashing into the managers' office, two envelopes and two pieces of paper clutched in his hands and his red hair sticking out.

At first, Gregory had thought his brother had gone mad, that the stress of running the Opera House and of the notes from the Phantom had gone to his head. Carefully so as not to startle him, Gregory had gently asked Roland if something was the matter. The response had been worse than expected.

"He's taken Aria!" Roland cried, waving the papers in the air.

Gregory had taken the papers from him and read each of them over. Hours later, the two brothers still did not know what to do next. Calling the law would get them nowhere; after the _Don Juan_ incident five years ago, most of the police force had tried searching for the Phantom, and all had failed to locate and arrest him. By now, most had attributed the incident to a miscalculation during an opera stunt, and had refused to come back to the Populaire to waste their time on more searches.

"He says he still wants his payment," Gregory stated with disgust.

Roland turned and looked at him. "If it's the money that he wants, then he will receive it," he snapped. "I'll sell Aria's jewels and get the money to pay him off."

Gregory could only stare at him in shock. "Now Roland, let's not be too hasty," he said. "After all, paying off the Ghost is no guarantee that he will return Aria to us."

To his shock, Roland reached over and grabbed him by his lapels. "I don't care if you think paying off the Ghost is '_hasty_,'" he growled in the back of his throat. "If paying the money ensures that Aria is kept safe and well, that is all that matters."

All Gregory could do was nod in agreement as Roland released him and stomped out of the office. He still thought it was a bad idea to pay the money, but Roland was right; even if they did not get Aria back in exchange for the payment, at least they knew that the Ghost would keep her alive. Even as a hostage to the Ghost's will, Aria was sure to be cared for until her return.

Sighing, Gregory sat back in his chair and reached for a bottle of brandy.

* * *

Following our brief lunch and his offer to bring me some of my clothing, I had left Erik to his composing and sought out the treasure trove of that lay within his library. After picking up a lone candle and lighting it from one of the many standing around the caverns, I pushed open the door to the library and began a thorough look through the volumes lining the walls.

As my eyes wandered over title after title, I realized that there were far more books here than I previously thought. Some manuscripts were quite old and valuable, and should have been in the library of either a wealthy man or a library in a government building. Where had Erik obtained these precious texts in the first place? Could he have stolen them from somewhere?

'_No, I doubt that he would leave the Opera House to steal books_,' I reasoned as I passed by a shelf which held medical books.

In my imagination, I just couldn't see him breaking into a rich man's house to steal from his library; after all, Erik (or should I say, the Opera Ghost) had never been seen out in public, and he did not seem like the sort of person who would actually go out into the world for any reason except for an emergency. But how else could he get these works if not by theft?

A sudden thought hit me: what if he _did_ steal them, just not from where I think he might have?

When the Opera Populaire had burned down, the Paris city council had sent several large groups to the rubble in order to assess the damage. To their surprise, there were very few books and documents discovered amongst the wreckage. As expected, most of the paperwork concerning the Populaire had burned up in the fire, but the library had mostly been spared; evidently, the section housing the Populaire's books had been entirely made of stone, to lower the risk of fire. However, very few books were actually found, and after I had read about it in the papers, Papa had waved it off, saying that people had probably looted the place before city officials could get there and rescue what was left.

'_Apparently the Phantom got to it before they did_,' I thought, shaking my head. '_At least he managed to save the books from fools who would probably burn them for fuel_.'

In the back of my mind, I found that it was odd to think of Erik as the Phantom of the Opera. Over the years, I had read many articles in the gossip papers, and had tried to imagine what, exactly, this man was like. Thus far, I had pictured the Phantom as a cold, calculating man who obsessed over money and lusted after beautiful singers even as he terrorized the Opera House with his pranks.

'_Well, he **is** obsessed with money, but only because he has no other means of supporting himself_,' I thought as I chose a Jane Austin volume off a shelf.

Yes, Erik was an artistic genius, but both he and I knew that if he tried to promote his work in the world, no one would take him seriously. He would simply be shunned because of his face, and he would no doubt become a beggar in the streets. If he tried, he could become a 'reclusive artist,' but someone on his working staff would surely see him, and before he could stop it, gossip would flood the society columns of the paper. Either way, people would cast him out and ruin him.

'_At least in his life in the Opera House, people learn to fear and obey him, though I'm not sure if that is much better_.'

Of course, if he were to be feared, it would probably be better to have people running to do your bidding instead of them coming to destroy you. It had happened eventually, though, when the mob descended into the caves to hunt him out, but only after he had abducted his singer.

'_Which only furthers my imaginings of the Phantom only loving his money, his tricks, and lovely singers_,' I thought with a shake of my head.

Well, I certainly wasn't a singer, so I had no worries about him obsessing over or falling in love with _me_! Luckily, I had no singers in my family either; singing happened to be one of the few artistic talents that had skipped everyone in our family, for which I was truly thankful! I knew that if my girl cousins had been graced with a lovely singing voice and been asked to come visit me here, I would now be very terrified for them. Just the thought of one of those girls being brought down here made my blood freeze in my veins.

Well, they weren't here, and I was. So, pushing all thoughts of unpleasantness aside, I took my book and candle and approached the seats by the fireplace. Setting aside the book, I took the candle and lit the lamps that hung above the wood mantel and the oil lamps that stood on either side of the chair I had chosen. After I had finished, though, I realized that I felt a bit chilled, and began to start a fire. Thankfully, there was already wood and kindling in the grate, so I had little trouble getting comfortable and losing myself in my book.

As I lost myself in the story of the Bennett family, my ears picked up the steady flow of music drifting through the walls. Stone may surround me, but the door was made of wood, and stone tends to help sound reflect and echo amazingly well. Enveloped by music and possessing a delightful book, I lost myself in the realm of an avid reader.

* * *

Closing his leather work folder, Erik sighed and stretched out his muscles. Wincing as his fingers, arms and shoulders cracked, he released another sigh and slumped down on his organ bench. The sounds of dripping water filled his ears, and the fading scent of food cooked hours ago reached his nose. It was then that he remembered he had a guest, one that he hadn't seen for quite some time.

Jumping from his bench, he glanced at a nearby clock and was surprised to see it in the mid- to late afternoon. He had left Aria Craven alone for nearly the whole day, and who knows what sort of mischief she might have gotten herself into by now? Frowning, Erik began a search of his home, some unknown emotion twisting his stomach into knots. What was it about this young woman that made him want to tear the caverns apart to find her?

'_I must be going mad_,' he thought as he began opening random doors.

The first one was a mistake to even touch, as it held a shrine dedicated to his Angel. When she had left him there, weeping in the darkness, Erik's heart and soul had been shattered. How he had managed to gather his thoughts and will together in order to flee, he did not know, but he had. When he had returned to his home, Christine's precious replica had been spared destruction.

Perhaps the mob had feared to ruin the image of an angel such as her, or perhaps they just feared its uncanny likeness to the soprano. Whatever it was, Erik was glad to see it still whole when he returned. He had stitched together an ordinary white gown for it and placed it over the replica in order to make it more lifelike. He had then stored his creation in this room, dedicating the small, empty space to the only woman he had ever loved, covering the walls and floor with dried roses and sketches of her.

Closing his eyes in pain, Erik pulled the door closed. '_Why did I look in there_?' he silently asked himself. '_Of course Aria wouldn't be in there_! _If she had opened the door, she would have used her good sense and run away from it_.'

Glancing around the cave, Erik managed to deduce which room she was in by the light coming underneath the door. Of all the other rooms in his home, the library was probably the only room in which she could truly amuse herself and pass the time. Reaching for the knob, he quietly turned the latch and pushed it open a crack, careful not to make any noise and attract attention.

There she was, happily curled up in one of the comfortable chairs with a book in her lap. She was clearly halfway through the text, and appeared to be enjoying every moment of it. Her lips were pulled up into an amused smile as she turned the page, her eyes swiftly devouring the words as firelight danced across her features. Her hair hung loose, as she had nothing to tie it up with, but he would not wish for her to; her brown hair sparkled with red and gold flickers that rivaled the fire crackling nearby, and he couldn't help but think that perhaps she was of the fire herself.

He shook his head at his foolishness. What sort of woman was she, making him think such things? Everything he had seen and studied about Aria Craven declared that she was a perfectly ordinary young woman. True, she was of a wealthy family, but that shouldn't make him think of her like some divinely inspired artist! Why was he thinking of and admiring her like this?

When her eyes drifted up to meet his with a true, friendly smile settled upon her lips, Erik felt his heart answer his questions. He was lonely. Although he had always known this, it was one thing to know something, and another to admit it to ones self. Thus far, this aristocratic woman had been the only person to genuinely greet him with a smile when he entered the room. Madame Giry had first spotted him within a cage, a look of horror and pity on her face as she brought him to the Opera House. After that, as soon as he had entered the same room as she, Madame had always worn a look of surprise or exasperation. When he had revealed himself as the Ghost to the workers in the Opera House, cries and screams filled the air as people milled around like sheep, trying to get away.

He kept his movements slow and careful, as though he were moving towards a doe instead of a doe-eyed woman. Erik watched her expression as she watched him approach her chair; at the first sign of fear or discomfort, he would excuse himself and return to the music room. Inside, though, he prayed that she would let him stay here with her, enjoying the warmth of the fire instead of the cold loneliness of the other cavern. He longed for company, and perhaps she would talk with him about something, anything at all, as long as they talked to one another. Erik quietly settled into the chair opposite her and waited to see which one would have to break the silence.

Just then, his prayers were answered when she spoke. "Are you finished with your composition?" she asked in a soft voice. It was the same tone she had used with her visiting cousins.

Leaning back in his chair, Erik let his eyes fall upon her book instead of looking at her directly. "No," he replied, also keeping his voice soft. "It is not finished, though I hope to complete it soon."

Inside, he was congratulating himself on answering her question without stumbling over words or losing his temper. Rarely in his life had he engaged in conversation with another human being, and it was rather nerve-wracking on one so inexperienced with it. Thankfully, he was spared from having to speak further by Aria's voice breaking the silence.

"Your home is very beautiful," she said, blushing slightly. "You have very good, very elegant tastes in furniture and cloth. Not many men can claim that."

Her compliment was so surprising that it startled a smile out of him. "Thank you," he said, nodding his head in gratitude. "However, I'm afraid my skill in choosing cloth comes from observation rather than natural instinct or experience."

Aria tilted her head to the side, obviously puzzled and in need of an explanation. The act made her look quite pretty and endearing, which was something Erik had never thought about in a woman before. In fact, he had never thought of anything as endearing, not even Christine. It was rather unsettling, but the warm feeling he had inside made all other unpleasant emotions vanish. Instead of dwelling on it, though, he answered her unspoken question.

"I learned about style by watching what the male audience members and the managers were wearing to the Opera House for performances and parties," he explained, enjoying the fact that she was truly listening to him and not feigning interest. If she _was_ acting, then she deserved a high place amongst the chorus girls! "Whatever they were wearing tended to be in fashion, and I learned about their mistakes by what people were saying about each other's outfit. It was quite educational."

She surprised him again by laughing. "It's a pity that most men and women do not learn the same lessons that you did!" Aria replied, still giggling. "I must confess to 'accidentally' spilling wine on a few young men, all because of their horrid clothing choices!"

Now it was his turn to laugh. Oh, how good it felt to actually laugh at something without it being forced, or because of some trick he'd done! He hoped she would make him laugh more often during her stay; he rather liked the warm feeling that genuine laughter and amusement gave him.

If she did manage to keep him feeling this way, he might just keep her for longer than intended…

* * *

Erik's laugh had to be one of the most wonderful things I had ever heard. It was so deep, rich, and musical that I wanted to swoon right there, but I dared not. I was not the sort to swoon over anyone, not even the handsome, charming noblemen Grandmother kept trying to introduce me to. No, I would not faint at his feet, but I would treat him like a man should be treated.

'_When was the last time he laughed_?' I silently asked myself. '_It can't have been very recently; he looks like the sort of man who takes things seriously and personally_.'

I suppose I would have to stay on his good side, then, by making him laugh and smile as much as possible. He could not have had an easy life, so perhaps I could try and help him, if only a little.

"What would you like for dinner?" I asked once he had calmed down. "I can make anything you like; you have but to request it."

For a moment, he merely stared at me. "You are…_asking_ me?" he whispered, as though my question had been an act of his imagination.

Careful so as not to appear patronizing, I gave him a gentle smile. "Of course," I replied. "I saw some nice roasted beef in the pantry, and if you'd like me to make a stew of some sort, I could do that quite easily."

Watching his face, I sat and waited for his reply.

* * *

Would the woman sitting before him ever stop saying or doing the unexpected? He highly doubted it, but then, it was nice to receive something that was more of a good surprise than a bad one. Erik tried not to overreact to the simple courtesy that she had shown, but he could not help himself. As she sat there looking at him, he tried to answer her question.

"A beef stew would be fine," he said.

To his relief, she smiled at him and rose from her chair. "Well, if it is to be stew, then I had better get started now," she stated, though not unkindly. "Shall I fetch you from here when it is done, or shall I find you in your music room?"

Erik shook his head. If she was doing something for him, the least he could do was return the gesture. "I will be here later, but first I must fetch you some clothes," he replied, also rising from his chair. "Is there anything…particular that you would like?" Even though he towered over her by at least twelve inches, he felt rather small in comparison to the kind person before him.

She frowned for a moment, chewing her lower lip in thought. "Well, I do have a few sensible dresses that Papa bought for me," she said. "They're mostly made of strong materials and tend to be used when my younger cousins come to visit, as they tend to leave messes that are hard to get out. I put those in the lower drawer of my wardrobe in my room, so if you could fetch those, I would be much obliged." The grateful smile that graced Aria's mouth made his stomach flip.

No, he could not be feeling anything for her! While he would gladly accept something akin to friendship or kindness, anything more than that was not to be permitted. His heart had already been torn apart by one woman; he would not let such a thing happen again!

* * *

"Very well," Erik replied with a nod before he turned and left the room.

Once I was sure he was gone, I sighed and made my way to the kitchen. It would take a few hours before the stew was done, and it would take quite a bit of work as well. When I reached the kitchen, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work chopping meat, vegetables, and herbs I had found in the pantry. After cooking the ingredients for a few moments, I put them in a pot of water over the fire, added salt and pepper, covered it, and then sat down to think.

Why had Erik turned so cold all of a sudden? I hadn't said anything offending that I could think of, and yet he had gone from amused to somber in an instant. Granted, he was a complex person who had experienced a difficult life, so I suppose I would have to tread very carefully around him. I had heard about what Erik had done as the Phantom when he was angry, so it would be in my best interest to try and not provoke him; I did _not_ want to end up like that stagehand in _Il Muto_!

Sighing, I sat and waited for supper to finish.

* * *

The evening meal was over with, and Erik had managed to not get too emotionally close to his guest. He measured his success by being able to stay distant but civil to Aria without making her burst into tears. He hadn't been cold, but he had allowed himself to be just warm enough so as not to wilt her spirits. Apparently his act had worked, as she was now smiling while she cleared away the dishes. Or perhaps she was smiling now that she had some of her clothing here with her.

"Once you are finished with the dishes, you may join me in the music room," he suddenly blurted out, much to his shock. "I must practice and a new audience would be welcome."

Why had he said that? Now he would have to spend more time with her! '_Of course, since she lives with you now, you might as well become used to her presence_,' whispered a voice in the back of his head._ 'Avoiding her is impossible.'_

"Thank you," she replied. "I would be honored to hear your music."

Swallowing heavily, Erik waited until she was finished washing before leading her to the music room. He settled her down into a chair, his feet then carrying him to his bench and sitting himself down at his organ, his fingers pressing themselves to the keys. As music filled the air of the cavern, Erik could feel something else join the music as it echoed about the cave. It took him a moment to realize that it was the feeling of having another person's company, and that it made the music sound so much sweeter.

* * *

AN: Kind of fluffy, but not too much, I hope. Please leave a review! Thanks!


	10. What to Do?

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Sorry this is late: I was gone last week and couldn't post. Also, I'm reposting this chapter in the hopes that it allows my readers to actually see this, since the website is being a pain in the butt for some reason this week. If you can read this, please say so in your reviews!

Anyway, there's just the tiniest bit of sap in this chapter, but not much. It could have become much sappier, but I didn't want them to fall in love too quickly; it would have made it too much of a Mary-Sue, and nobody wants that! Well, someone might, but the romance will take a little while. Thanks for reading, and please review!

**Chapter 10: What to Do:**

Days passed, and Roland and Gregory Craven were near-frantic in their attempts to put on an opera. Hanging over their heads was the fact that they had to lie to everyone in the Opera House, claiming that Mademoiselle Craven had unexpectedly been summoned back to England by her grandmother. Some of the workers had looked skeptical, but when they remembered how much Mademoiselle Craven loved her family, most shrugged their shoulders and accepted it.

However, the managers could not fool one person into believing their stories. Madame Antoinette Giry had lived in the Opera Populaire for most of her life, and she knew fear and lies the moment she encountered them. Fear was evident on the Craven brothers' faces whenever they happened to glance up into the flies above the stage, and the moment that anyone asked when Mademoiselle Craven would return, they would cough and prattle out an answer, their eyes glancing away as they spoke.

As the opening night for '**_The Magic Flute_**' drew nearer, Madame Giry found herself growing more and more worried about the new managers. Where, in fact, _was_ Aria Craven in the first place? As far as Madame Giry knew, no messengers had come bearing an urgent note for Aria to return to England, nor had she seen any messages leave the Populaire bound for the island nation.

For Madame, there were only two explanations as to why or how Aria Craven had left the Opera House. The first was that Aria's father and uncle had sent her away before anything could happen to her. This seemed the most likely choice, as Madame Giry was sure that the men now knew who and what they were dealing with. Madame also saw that Roland Craven was a doting father, and knew that any father would protect his child.

However, the second explanation over Aria's unusual disappearance was just that: she had literally disappeared and her father and uncle were trying to pretend otherwise. It worried Madame to think that Erik had taken Aria for reasons unknown, but if that were true, then there was nothing she could do about it. If she tried to enter the caverns beneath the Populaire, there would no doubt be a dozen traps waiting, and Erik would probably be angry enough to leave her there to wither and die.

As sorry as she was for Aria Craven, there was no possible way that Antoinette was going to risk her life to save her. After all, there was little Meg to consider; who would take care of her when she was gone? And as abnormal and angry as he was, Erik was not a killer of women; he was rather afraid and uncomfortable around them, so he tried to keep as much space between him and them as possible. If Aria was with Erik in his lair, then she was safe from harm and would likely be returned to her family as soon as Erik (or the Ghost) grew tired of her. And if Aria was, in fact, with her grandmother in England, then there was nothing to worry about, now, was there?

For now, all Antoinette could do was wait and see what the future brought.

* * *

Yawning, I rolled over in the large Phoenix bed and slowly fluttered my eyes open. Every morning, I would open my eyes in the golden bed I had first woken up in and let my mind wander. I hadn't examined it the first day, but when I had, I saw that it resembled a beautiful Phoenix in flight. Best of all, it was the product of Erik's own hard work, and when I had praised it, he had actually blushed slightly before fleeing the room. 

Sighing, I rolled onto my back and stared at the black silk of the canopy, from which fell the sheer, black lace curtain that isolated me from the rest of the cave. As of this morning, I had been in Erik's home for ten days, and it had been both a fascinating experience and a boring one as well.

* * *

After my first day here in the caverns, Erik had allowed me access to practically every room in his home, except the one which held his tribute to Christine. He didn't know that I had already been in there, of course, and since he seemed to value it so highly, I decided to keep quiet and agree to leave it be. However, I was allowed to use the library as much as I wished, and he even let me inspect his workrooms, so long as I didn't touch anything. 

On my second day, I learned that Erik was not that well-learned in the kitchen. An artistic genius he may be, but when it came to the arts of the kitchen, he didn't do much more than toast cheese over bread and add a slice of already cooked meat to it. This, I discovered, was why his pantry was so full of dried and preserved goods, but was severely lacking any fresh fruits, vegetables, grains, or milk. In the end, I'd resorted to begging him to let me make a list of groceries that needed to be bought. To my amazement, the food arrived a day after he'd taken the list from me.

Also on that second day, Erik had discovered that if he was polite and behaved (somewhat) decently, he could have me cook anything he liked. For some reason, my kindness towards him seemed to make Erik act a bit cold towards me; however, after the meal was over with and he realized that I had, in fact, cooked what he had wanted me to, he warmed slightly. It seemed as though he were unused to someone being kind and considerate to him and he didn't know how to react to it. Thankfully, this only lasted for a few days, after which Erik did his best to try and thank me for what I did for him.

Before a week had passed, Erik and I were able to fall into a routine that we were both comfortable with. In the morning, I would wake up and prepare breakfast for myself while Erik slept late. He was often up late at night working on an opera or art piece, and I learned the hard way that waking him was probably the worst thing I could possibly do. So I ate whatever I could find as my morning meal, alone, and then found my way to the library to read until lunch.

The time period after breakfast was far different than the quiet early mornings. A little after nine o'clock, I would hear Erik stalking from his room to the kitchen to make his own breakfast. Moments later, he would go to his organ and compose until lunch. At noon, I would cook a simple meal for us both, though I always had to put Erik's meal within arm's reach as he worked. When his food was gone, I would wash the dishes and go to the library, where I would meet Erik for our afternoon talks.

A recent addition made to the library was a mahogany table, which was set in between the two chairs. Erik had placed it there upon the afternoon of my fifth day in the caves, just so that we could sit and talk over cups of hot chocolate. Nothing personal was discussed, but he would ask me about what books I liked to read, or had already read. If there was time, Erik would ask which topic I would be willing to attempt to read from the numerous shelves surrounding us, and offered suggestions.

Although I was a prisoner here, I couldn't help but savor those conversations with Erik. My father had never tried to persuade me to read Aristotle or Homer, but Erik said that these were classic texts that many scholars read, and which I could also benefit from. He emphasized that if I wanted to have any sense in my head, I should read something challenging in order to keep my mind occupied. It was very flattering, and I did my best to pour over any book that caught my eye or that Erik suggested.

If asked, though, I would have to say that I enjoyed the evenings best of all. I, of course, would cook a supper that Erik preferred, but once the dinner dishes were cleaned and put away, Erik would let me read in the music room while he played for me. Usually it was some piece of music that he had already completed the day before, but mostly it was something he made up right then and there. The passionate and bold way he played his music often left me breathless, and most of the time I could not focus on my book no matter how hard I tried. I would often go to bed with my bones feeling as though they were both vibrating and melting at the same time, so powerful was Erik's music.

* * *

Yawning and stretching once more, I sat up and reached out for the black cord that would raise the lace curtain. Up it went, and as I swung my feet over the side of the bed, I noticed that a deep red gown I had never seen before rested on a nearby chair. Sliding my feet into my slippers, I moved over to it and picked up the note that lay on top of it. 

_Please accept this token of my thanks for such fine meals and many nights of conversation. – Erik_

I put the note down and blushed. In society, it was highly improper for a man to buy a gown for a woman, especially if they were unmarried. Well, a husband could purchase a gown for his wife, but even then, he only gave her the money or permission to buy it. For any man to merely buy a gown for a casual acquaintance as Erik had…well, it simply was not done. Did he know that?

'_Probably not_,' I thought as I picked up the dress and looked at it closer. '_He's never had a proper upbringing, so of course he wouldn't know that it was taboo to have this done for me_!'

It was unlike anything I already owned, and Grandmother had made sure that I had a full wardrobe. Most of my clothes, of course, were still in England, though I had brought some of my most favorite outfits with me to France. I had elegant dresses for house calls, parties, balls, and important guest visitations, but I also had common dresses for lounging about my rooms all day. It had been the common, most sturdy dresses that Erik had brought down to me that first night here, and apparently he approved of my tastes, as he had chosen an informal gown to give me as a gift. The red material of the gown was of very strong, very good quality. It was also very soft, and didn't even rustle as I picked it up. Holding it up to my body, I realized that it would probably fit quite well if I tried it on.

'_But how had he known my size and measurements_?' I thought, eyeing the dress as I held it before me.I could hardly imagine him picking up one of my existing gowns and folding a tape measure over it! Perhaps he is just observant?

Well, Erik _was_ a genius, after all, so it really wouldn't surprise me if he did, in fact, correctly guess my dress size. As an artist, he _did_ have the skill to look at something and capture it perfectly in stone or on paper, so why would he not be able to guess a woman's dress size?

'_Now you are being silly_,' I silently laughed to myself. '_Put on the dress and wear it; you would not want to offend him, now, would you_?'

Even though it made me uncomfortable wearing the red gown, I felt I should. Social norms dictated that it was wrong, but there was no one down here to see my behavior anyway, so why not try and please Erik? In spite of everything, he had been kind to me, and never once had he threatened or harmed me. Oh, there were times when he was angry that I had touched one of his art projects when he wasn't looking, but I had deserved those!

'_Besides, I could have broken something beyond repair_,' I chided myself as I slipped out of my nightgown and pulled the red material over my head.

Once the gown was on, I reached behind me and tightened the ribbons, just enough so that I could breathe and tie them securely. There was one advantage to living down here, and it was that I did not have three maids attempting to force me into a corset! Thankfully, all of the outfits that Erik had brought down to me had bindings already made in them and did not require assistance to get into.

Now fully dressed, I looked about for a pair of shoes. I found a black pair by my wardrobe and slipped them on, tying them securely before going to the kitchen to make breakfast. I was shocked to find Erik already there, a cup of tea before him as he sat at the square table. He was clad in a white shirt, black pants, and his hair was mussed. Since he was not one for waking up early, I was immediately concerned.

"Erik, are you alright?" I asked, keeping my voice soft so as not to startle him.

He jumped in his seat and looked up at me. "I am fine," he grumbled, green eyes turning downwards so that he could stare into his white china cup.

I sighed and sat down across from him. "Erik, I know that something is wrong," I said, keeping my voice soft. "Please, tell me."

Erik fidgeted in his chair for a moment before frowning deeply, his hand briefly raising the cup to his mouth. Slowly, he set the cup back down at looked up at me. "I am restless," he muttered.

A smile found its way to my lips. "So you are tired of your art and music?" I gently teased. "If only for now, you want something new to your life?"

Again he fidgeted. "Yes." I could hear the reluctance in his voice as he admitted it.

My fingers began to softly tap upon the table as I thought. There was a way to turn this situation to my advantage. I, too, was bored with the monotonous tone my life had taken, but I had never told Erik that. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt his feelings or, worse yet, anger him! Secretly, I longed for sunshine and flowers, though I could certainly be happy with merely the sun's rays falling on my shoulders. I longed for golden light that did not come from a candle or a fire; I needed a kind of warmth that surrounded my whole body like a hug, not the sort of one-sided kind that came from a fireplace underground.

'_Carefully_, _Aria_,' I warned myself. '_Erik is a brilliant man and could easily see through your plan_.'

"Perhaps it would be best of you went outside?" I suggested, keeping my tone light and carefree. "You know, sometimes the wind and the sun are all that is needed to clear one's head."

For a moment, all Erik could do was stare at me with blank eyes, just before shaking his head and withering my hopes of seeing the outside world. "I never spend more than two or three days outside per month," he said. I could hear the anger and frustration in his voice. "Only then it is because I need something urgently. The outside world has no need for me, and I have no need for it."

I refused to give up, though. "But it will do you some good," I gently prodded him, making sure to give him a smile as I spoke. "You are so pale, and it would be nice to see a touch of golden tan or the pink of warmth in your cheeks."

For a moment, I thought he would yell at me, declaring my ideas foolish and my words insulting to him because of his face. To my surprise, he looked as though he were considering my idea. I nervously sat in my chair and waited for his answer.

* * *

In his heart, Erik knew that no human could live without the sunlight. He, of course, shunned it because of the way it revealed his imperfection to the world; the rest of humanity, though, loved the brilliantly shining orb that hung amidst beautiful white clouds and blue sky, and needed to bask in its gifts when the weather was fine. That very need was always obvious in the eyes of all mankind, and right now, it was Aria's eyes that showed that same desperate desire to be out in the open sun and air. 

But could he do it? Could he, the hated Phantom of the Opera, go out into the sun with this woman? True, he had gone out before, but those times had been brief, and only when he needed something to sweep away thoughts in a head filled with ideas for art and music. Those few trips into the sun had also been when he was sure no one would be out and able to see him. As an outcast of society, he tended to prefer the hottest days of summer or the coldest in winter, when everyone was inside their homes and not out in the streets where they could see him walking around.

'_But Aria actually cares about my health_,' he thought, flicking his eyes up to gaze at her. '_And perhaps a visit into the sun will do me good, after all_…'

"Very well," Erik told her, though he was still reluctant about going outside. "Be ready in a few moments; spring time in France tends to turn wet in an instant." '_And it would be a pity if the red gown you look so radiant in were to be ruined by the rain_.'

He became a bit more optimistic when Aria clapped her hands and smiled, acting more like a little girl than a grown woman. "I'll get my cloak," she said as she leapt from her chair and ran for her room.

Shaking his head in amusement, Erik also rose from his chair, set his cup in the sink, and headed for his room to change and fetch his own cloak.

* * *

I could barely contain my excitement as I ran into my room and chose a black cloak. It was one of my own, something that Erik had fetched down here for me, and it was sure to keep the wind, rain, and other unpleasantries off of my head. Securing it to my neck, I went out into the cavern to find Erik already there, fully dressed and ready. He offered me his arm, which I happily accepted, and led me towards a floor-length mirror. His fingers pressed a hidden switch in the gilded wood and the mirror swung open, revealing another cavern. 

"You must never wander into the passageways alone," Erik firmly declared, his head turned so that he could face me. "I have set many traps, and most of them are deadly or lead to someplace that would frighten you out of your wits. Promise me that you will never go out without me present."

The mere mention of his infamous deadly traps chilled my blood. "I promise," I said, my fingers clutching his elbow as shivers ran through me.

Erik nodded and began to lead me down the path, one hand picking up a lit torch from the wall and using it to guide our steps. I soon found myself growing lost with all of the twists and turns of the caverns; the eerie stone walls all blended together to look alike, and even the smooth pathway seemed to become one and the same. It almost seemed like the walls and floor were conspiring to keep intruders lost, forever protecting the Phantom's secret lair from those who would seek him out.

In the darkness, my hand continued to clutch Erik's arm. As it did so, I could not help but notice how strong he was. Beneath my fingertips, I could feel the muscles in his arm tense and relax as we walked, and it was then that I realized that he must have carried me, unconscious, down here in his arms. For some reason, that seemed to thrill me, my mind wandering as we moved through the caves. I began to think about how much Erik could actually lift with his bare hands, my mind so focused on possibilities that I did not notice we stopped, right beneath a trapdoor that lead up to the roof of the Populaire. Goodness, I had not even bothered to memorize how we had gotten here so that I could later escape! Perhaps next time I would do better…provided there _was_ a next time…

We emerged from behind a large statue of a rearing winged horse, and as Erik pulled me up through the trapdoor, I took a deep breath of fresh spring air. I could smell the scents of the city of Paris: dust, flowers, food, and wood smoke, everything mixing together and tickling my nose. It was a bit cloudy today, but it only made the day pleasantly cool instead of warm. I closed my eyes and savored every single moment of it, my mind etching this day into my memory.

Beside me, I heard Erik take a deep breath, just as I had. Turning my head slightly, I saw that as the sun emerged from behind the wisps of cloud overhead, his face was slowly turning a golden color. He was quite striking, and with the pale porcelain of his mask turning into a polished piece of molten gold, I couldn't help but stare.

Just then, green eyes opened and turned towards me.

* * *

Erik could sense she was looking at him, and hated it. For all of his childhood, he had been stared at and tormented because of his face, and now Aria was doing the same thing when he had thought she was different. Opening his eyes, he looked down at her, catching her in mid-stare. 

"What is wrong?" he asked, his voice trapped between angry and curious; well, there _was_ the chance that there was something the matter with her.

"Oh, nothing," Aria blurted out, a blush tingeing her cheeks. "It's just…you look better with some sunlight coloring your cheeks." She blushed harder. "It becomes you."

For a moment, all he could do was stare at her. She thought he looked better up here in the sun? Perhaps she even thought him…handsome? No, that could never be, but perhaps she thought he looked healthier with some touches of natural coloring instead of the pale sheet he usually resembled. It probably would do him good to go out into the sun more often…

Taking a deep breath, Erik said a pair of words that rarely left his lips.

"Thank you."

* * *

I had almost fainted when I complimented Erik of how nice he looked in the sun, fearing that he would think I was patronizing him. When he thanked me, I felt as though my cheeks would burst into flame. Blushing, I began to point out various rooftops and landmarks in attempt to hide my embarrassment. For a while, it worked, and Erik began to teach me the history of bits and pieces of Paris. My interest in history goes far back to my childhood, but it was deepened by the beautiful quality of Erik's voice. He must be a glorious singer, and I would give anything to hear him do so. 

But the last time he had done so was with the soprano during the performance of his failed opera, and I refused to bring up bad memories of that day. The poor man had suffered enough in life; it was time to move on. Instead of saying anything regarding my thoughts, I stood and listened to him talk, my heart filling with disappointment when he declared it time to return to the caves.

As he led me back to the darkness, I silently vowed to bring him back up into the sunlight once more.

* * *

AN: Cute sort of bonding in this chapter. Hope you liked it! Please review! 


	11. Opening Night

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: Here is another chapter! I know I'm probably posting too quickly, but I wanted to make up for the lost time and the fact that the website's been acting funny all week. There is more bonding and a tiny bit of fluff in this chapter, but if this story starts getting too boring or repetitive, please let me know; I'd like to know the fluff-limits of my readers! Thanks, and please review!

**Chapter 11: Opening Night:**

The day of the opening performance, Roland Craven found himself smoking a cigar and pacing the floor of his private office. There was a public office that he shared with Gregory, but he really did not want to see his brother right now. Since Gregory had a daughter of his own, a person would think that he would understand the emotional turmoil that his brother was going through. Instead, Gregory had decided to act as though the whole kidnapping of Aria hadn't happened.

"It's for the good of the Opera House and for our investment," Gregory had told him. "We must appear to be calm and happy, even when we aren't."

Honestly, the more Gregory talked, the more he sounded like their mother. Mother had always been one to put on a brave face whenever things went wrong, and all of her children had admired that. However, now that things were going wrong in the form of Roland's only daughter being kidnapped, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the charade.

Sighing, he ran a hand over his face and blew a puff of smoke. Aria had hated it when he smoked, and so he had indulged himself in a cigar after she had gone to bed. Now he had gone from smoking one of the things at night to smoking at least three of them in one day. He had always found the smoke comforting, and with Aria being taken and the opening night looming near, cigars were the only thing keeping him sane.

'_Aria would be keeping me sane and eating healthily, but she's gone_,' he thought, a stray tear escaping his eye. '_She would be doing her best to make me laugh, and to make sure that I had a good night's sleep after each busy day_.'

Oh, how he missed her! It would not be so bad if she sent him letters, but after the first note, none had followed. Roland tried to think positively, that Aria was _not_ dead, but that the Ghost merely wanted him to be kept alert until one was delivered. To keep himself occupied, Roland had put all of his efforts and energy into the opening night production, hoping to pass the time. He'd also sent Aria's jewelry to the nearest shop so that the jeweler could assess how much money the gems were worth.

'_At least I told him that I wanted to only sell him 20,000 francs worth of jewelry_,' he thought while taking another puff from his cigar. '_The least I can do is try to save as much of Aria's precious collection as I can_.'

As her father, he knew how much the gems meant to Aria, though not in monetary worth. Each piece had _sentimental_ value, and he had seen how difficult it had been for her to give them up. Even if she didn't like certain gems, Aria wore them in public like a badge of honor; it always made him proud whenever she did that. Oh, she had her favorites, of course, but Aria always took care to wear one particular piece or another to a family gathering, if only to please the giver of that jewelry piece.

'_She is always so considerate_.' A smile tugged at his lips. '_She always took care of others, never asking for anything unless she needed it_.'

The sound of fluttering paper reached Roland's ears, and when he turned around, he spotted an envelope lying there on the floor by his desk. His heart pounded in his chest as he picked it up, the red, skull-shaped wax seal staring up at him with empty eyes. It made his skin crawl, but he tossed aside his half-smoked cigar in order to open the latest message from the Opera Ghost. Hopefully this would not be another demand for money!

* * *

_Monsieur,_

_It has come to my attention that I have been neglectful on your behalf. Therefore, I have included in this envelope a short note from your daughter, Aria. I would write you of her safety and health, but I know it would mean nothing coming from my hand. Therefore, here is a message from hers._

_Your Obedient Servant,_

_O.G._

* * *

Frantically searching through the envelope, Roland found a small sheet of paper as wide as his wrist and a few inches long. For a moment, he saw was furious at the fact that Aria was only allowed to write such a small message to him, but his angry quickly gave way to surrender. Perhaps he should count himself lucky that he let her write at all. Roland grumbled silently to himself as he shook the paper out and began to read.

* * *

_Dearest Papa,_

_I know you must be worried, as I have not written for nearly two weeks, but I assure you that I am well and safe. The Ghost provides me with everything I need, though I am afraid that I must be the one cooking for the both of us as the Ghost does not know how. Every day I silently thank Mrs. Gardner for all of her lessons, as they have certainly become most useful_!

* * *

Roland chuckled at the mention of their cook left back in England. The old woman was the kind, motherly sort, but she ruled her kitchen with an iron fist. Except for the Cravens, anyone who entered her kitchen or wanted to eat her food was expected to work for it. That's why, when Aria had tried to escape her etiquette lessons by hiding in the kitchens, she had been forced into an entirely different set of learning altogether. However, the new lessons appeared far more useful than the previous ones…

* * *

_Oh, Papa, I miss you very much, and I hope that the opening night goes well. I hope that you have managed to get the money from the sale of my jewelry and will pay the Ghost soon, as he has become slightly upset about not having received it yet. He expects his payment before the evening performance, so please be sure to get it. I hope to see you and Uncle soon._

_All my love,_

_Aria_

_P.S: I hope that you have not increased your smoking habits since I have left; it cannot be good for you at all, and it made your clothes smell terrible!_

* * *

Blushing, Roland put out his cigar and summoned a carriage to take him to the jewelers. Hopefully, they had the money ready for him and he would be able to pay off the Ghost before the evening's performance. With any luck, Aria would be home before midnight. If not, well…let's just say that Aria was the one thing in this world that Roland Craven was willing to walk through Hell for.

* * *

On my fourteenth morning in the caves, it had taken a comment from Erik concerning the Opera's opening night to make me realize I hadn't sent a message up to Papa since that first day. Once I had seen my mistake, of course, I had asked Erik if he would be able to deliver the note for me, if only to ease my mind. He refused at first, but eventually gave in to my pleas, saying that I had to remind Papa that his salary was due. After giving my word, I composed the short note on the slip of paper Erik had provided, and watched him write his own, signing and sealing it with the dreadful red wax skull. The wax seal was of his own creation, or so he had told me, and I could easily believe it. 

I felt much better after seeing Erik leave with the note in hand. Papa always tended to worry about me, even if I were just outside in the gardens of our home. I suppose it's because he let Mother have my little brother, Paul, when she asked for the separation; although my father had every legal right to have both myself and Paul in his custody, he knew how much Paul meant to my mother, and so he allowed her to take his only son and heir with her to America.

'_Besides, Papa truly loved Mother, and he couldn't bear the thought of leaving her penniless and alone_,' I thought while preparing lunch for Erik and myself.

That was why my father agreed to give my mother the separation; he had loved her very much, but knew that if she did not love him as she once had, then he would give her anything she wished. However, there were limits to the separation, which my father set in place; my mother was given a comfortable sum of money to live on and a home in America, but she did not have any control over my brother's inheritance. Paul's money was in the hands of a large, well-known bank, which he would receive upon his twentieth birthday. Since Papa did not want wish for me to be left penniless, I had a fortune of my own in the banks in England, which I would inherit upon Papa's death.

'_Which hopefully will not happen for quite some time_,' I thought grimly. '_Though the purchase and management of this Opera House will certainly do him more harm than_ _good_!'

Shaking my head, I began to make a simple meal of sandwiches and soup for when Erik returned.

* * *

For Erik, delivering Aria's note to her father was a simple matter to, and slipping in his own message was practically a requirement in these matters. After all, it would look soft-hearted on his part if he were to just send a note from Aria without adding something in his own hand! 

From his space behind the wall, Erik watched as Roland Craven scanned through the message and departed from the Opera House, no doubt bound to retrieve the money he thought would bring his daughter back to him. A pity the man didn't know that Erik had no intention of letting Aria leave his cavern home…or, at least, not yet.

Realizing how long it would be until luncheon, he decided to take a brief walk through the Populaire and see how rehearsals were faring. It amused him to see the dancers squirm upon seeing him up in the flies, and the stagehands were even better to get reactions out of, since they were some of the few to get a closer look of the Phantom. He spent a few minutes dropping small, random props from the catwalks and laughing when the people beneath cried out in fright. Madame Giry tried to keep everyone calm, but was unsuccessful, and in her anger she shot a glare up towards him. Satisfied, Erik decided to return to the managers' offices to see what was happening there.

To his delight, there stood the two Craven brothers, the two of them arguing over the sack that sat in the middle of a table by the wall. Conveniently, the table was by a wall Erik had access to, so while the brothers were quarreling, Erik slid behind the hidden doorway and looked through the specially created knothole in the wood, listening in as his hand began undoing a secret latch.

"Be reasonable, Roland!" yelled Gregory Craven. "You don't even know if he will give her back once he has his money!"

Roland merely glared at his brother. "Even if he doesn't give her back, at least I'll know that she's alive!" he snarled. "Either way, the money will be well-spent!"

Gregory shook his head. "You say this because you received a note from what appears to be her," he said, evidently exasperated with his brother. "That note could have been written the day she disappeared, for goodness sakes!" He reached out and grabbed the other man's shoulder. "Listen to me, Roland. At least make the Ghost give you _proof_ that Aria is well! Tell him to let you see her when you give him the money!"

Roland shook his head. "The note _was_ from her, Gregory. This I know because the ink was so fresh it was wet. I could even smell it. Even the wax of the seal was soft enough to push my fingernail into!" He took a deep breath. "I know you mean well, brother, but I will pay the Ghost as he asks. If I do, he is sure to let her go."

"He might not," Gregory warned. "If he gets the money, he will have no incentive to leave her alive."

"If he kills her, then he knows we will leave this place and no one will ever fund the Opera House again," snapped Roland. "And if he doesn't kill her, what would he want with Aria? She would sooner die than let that monster touch or force her in any way; that I _do_ know as well!"

Erik felt icy fingers grip his heart. No, Aria would never let him touch her, not in that way. And even though he had been mad enough to kidnap Christine from the stage, he was not the sort of man to force a woman into his bed. A monster in appearance, and sometimes in heart, he might be, but he would never harm a woman who had been as kind to him as Aria had been. He had experienced more warmth and friendship in those first few days than he had his entire life; he had no reason to harm Aria, especially since she had been feeding him better meals than he could ever hope make.

In front of him, he watched as the men continue to argue. Perhaps it would be best to remove the thing that caused them so much anger. Reaching through the small hidden door, Erik snatched up the pouch of money and pulled it into the stone cavern he himself hid in. Once the money was safely with him, he shut and latched the small door, giving a polite cough that was only heard inside the room. Both men instantly ceased bickering and looked around until both looked at the now empty table.

"The money," Roland gasped.

"Yes, the money," Erik said, using his talent of ventriloquism to make his voice echo throughout the room. "I feel I must thank you, monsieur, for your timely payment. Thanks to this, you will not have to worry about any disaster occurring during opening night."

"Where is Aria?" Roland demanded, looking around the room for him. "Where is my daughter?"

"She is alive, well, and safe," Erik said, keeping his voice neutral. "If you wish her to stay that way, monsieur, I suggest the two of you make this night as glorious as possible. After all, I must have a patron to support my Opera House." He let a bit of haunting laughter echo throughout the room. "I thank you again for my salary. Oh, yes, and I will be studying tonight's performance and party. Be sure to be on your best behavior, my dear managers, for if you give away Mademoiselle Craven's situation or ruin any chances of obtaining a patron…well, consider yourselves warned."

With that, Erik proceeded down towards his lair, smiling as the two brothers began cursing and calling out for the Ghost to come out and show himself.

* * *

I had just set lunch out on the table when I sensed someone in the doorway. Turning, I saw Erik standing there, watching me place a large pot of soup in the center of the table. To my amusement, his nose twitched as he inhaled the smells that drifted towards him. Looking him over, I noticed that he'd taken off his formal outfit and was wearing his customary casual outfit of a white shirt, black pants with matching boots, and his green velvet robe. 

"You're just in time," I said, smiling. "I hope that tomato soup and roast beef sandwiches are to your liking, as it took me forever to make the soup the way Mrs. Gardener's does."

"It smells wonderful," Erik replied as he approached the table and sat down. "I'm famished."

I merely laughed as I began to ladle the soup into bowls. We ate in silence and once everything was consumed, I began gathering the dishes. I could feel Erik's green eyes focused on my back as he watched me wash, dry, and stack the dishes, storing them in the cupboards and the silverware in their drawers. It was rather unnerving, as I could feel that there was something troubling him. Sighing, I put down my dishrag and turned around to face him.

"Erik, what's wrong?" I said while leaning against the counter.

He looked at me for a moment, obviously debating on whether or not to tell me. Finally, he sat back in his seat and looked me in the eye. "I have retrieved the salary your father and uncle owed me," Erik replied, his eyes never leaving mine. "However, I do not mean to release you, not until I am sure of the success of the opera. I also mean to keep you until your father has secured a patron for my Opera House. Therefore, I will be watching all of tonight's events to see how things progress."

I let my head hang for a moment in disappointment. Then, without warning, I had an idea. My head snapped up and I felt hope rising inside me once again. "Erik, did you say you were going to watch the opera?" I asked. He nodded. "Then would you allow me to go with you? I wish to watch the performance as much as you do, if only to see the hard work that has been put into it!"

Erik immediately began shaking his head. "I cannot risk you being seen," he said, setting his jaw in a determined manner. "I know how to keep to the shadows, as I have lived in them all of my life. You, however, could easily attract attention; your presence would make others realize that your father has been lying to the public for two weeks." I opened my mouth to beg, but Erik held up his hand. "No, Aria, I'm afraid that I cannot let you leave the lair…not for this."

Sighing, I watched as he rose from his chair and left the room. Even though I knew he was right, it still felt like a knife in my heart.

* * *

Tying his cravat into place, Erik felt as though something cold and sharp had shot through him. Ever since he had denied Aria the chance to see the opera, she had become quiet and distant. It was wrong of him to take away the chance of her seeing her family, or the chance to see the performance they had worked so hard to build, but he could not risk the chance of her being seen. 

Giving the lapels of his coat one last tug, Erik examined himself in the mirror. Normally, he despised mirrors, but when getting ready for an opera or to go aboveground in general, he always tried to look his best. It was bizarrely twisted, a man in a mask trying to appear dignified, but in a way, dressing this way made him forget that he was a man with only half a face.

Shaking his head to clear away his thoughts, Erik stepped out of his room and into the caverns. He did not see Aria, but could tell that she was in the library, probably curled up with a book. Satisfied that she was safely occupied for the night, he walked strait to his gondola and stepped in, picking up the pole and heading out the gate.

Once he was past the impressive metal structure, Erik tripped the underwater trigger and watched it fall into place, effectively imprisoning Aria and cutting her off from the outside world.

* * *

The opening night of '**_The Magic Flute'_** was a success. The lead singers, dancers, and chorus girls had taken their bows to tremendous applause, which Erik found quite satisfactory. The lead soprano, however, needed to tone her voice better, and the ballerinas were slightly out of step, but it was not noticeable to most of the audience. Once the performance was over, everyone went out of the theater and into the ballroom, where music and refreshments were being provided for the evening's party. 

Looking down from his hiding spot above the ballroom floor, Erik could see everyone and everything. Well, provided that people weren't hiding behind the pillars, he could see them, but the only people doing the hiding were courting couples he had no interest in. The only thing he wanted to know about was whether or not there was a patron coming forward to fund the Populaire.

Thus far, many wealthy men and elderly women had approached the Craven brothers, either to congratulate them on their successful night, or to say how much they enjoyed the opera. However, none of them had stayed long; a few clinked glasses together in celebration of the night, but most immediately left to chat with friends, family, or business acquaintances. Some guests had already left for the night!

Beginning to feel vexed with the whole thing, Erik glanced around at the couples dancing and twirling to the music, which was being provided by a different group of musicians than the Opera House's orchestra. After all, the orchestra could hardly be asked to play at a festivity so soon after an opera! Normally, Erik would have been upset by the use of common musicians, but the music was of good taste, and the performers were actually in tune and playing well, so he pushed his misgivings aside.

Watching women dance by in their glittering jewels and shimmering gowns, Erik understood why Aria would have wanted to attend this. This was her world, one full of parties, wealth, glamour, and amusement, and it was clear that she missed it. As one woman danced by in a beautiful red gown with sparkling gold silk and gauze trimming the ruffles, Erik thought of how the sparkling ruby color flattered the woman currently dwelling with him in his underground home.

He bit his lip in thought. Was it not a habit of women to talk about each other's gowns and sigh over the colors? A few women were doing just that, smiling and giggling behind their fans or gloved hands. Meanwhile, the husbands or suitors of these women rolled their eyes affectionately at the chatter while they watched their ladies talk.

Erik found himself watching the night's attendees, his mind memorizing everything as he thought about one particular woman…and what she might like to hear about the evening.

* * *

AN: Too boring, too fluffy, or both? Please let me know in a review! Thanks! 


	12. Why I Didn't See It Before

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: I hope that everyone is enjoying this story and will review. I _live_ for feedback! Thanks!

**Chapter 12: Why I Didn't See It Before:**

Sighing, I sat in my bed and listened to the sound of dripping water. Erik had left hours ago, and I felt terribly alone. Even traveling to Paris from England, I had never been alone; Papa had always slept in the next room, and I could always hear his snores coming through the walls. Here in the caverns, I'd always known that Erik was there, as he tended to have a certain _presence_ around him when he was here, lurking around the caves. At night, the sounds of his music carried over into my room as he played; light violin notes or the deep, pulsing sound of the organ, it always found its way to me, and I had the great pleasure of falling asleep to it.

Another sigh escaped my lips as I rolled over onto my side, my eyes drifting over to the open doorway. I had no actual door there, but Erik had kindly put up a large, thick curtain that was a good substitute. Since Erik had no intention of disturbing me here in my own personal sanctuary, there was no need for him to knock and ask for permission to enter. I was quite surprised to discover that I had as much privacy here as I did at home with my father.

'_But am I better off here than I was with Papa_?' I thought, my eyebrows coming together as I puzzled over the matter.

At home, I had many servants, books, and, of course, my beloved father there with me whenever I needed him. The servants were all very kind and carried out whatever I asked them to, and when I felt the need for company, I never hesitated to summon several maids to sit and talk with me for a few hours. Grandmother would have an apoplexy if she found out I had become friends with 'the help,' but they had so much more sense than the noblewomen my age!

'_All the noblewomen can talk about is fashion, husbands, and money_.' I gave an unladylike snort of contempt and amusement. '_Or, if they are married, they boast about how their children are growing or how they are improving their homes with expensive decorations_.'

At lease the conversations with my cleaning maids were useful. They would talk about how it wouldn't be wise to wear fashions because it looked just plain foolish, or that tightening the corset would only make a woman unable to breathe and nearly kill her. The wisest thing they told me, though, was that money did not always buy happiness; if it did, then why were so many noblewomen wearing false smiles along with their expensive gowns and jewels?

Goodness, how I missed those girls! All of my maids had nearly burst into tears after hearing I was leaving for Paris, and I had nearly cried along with them. Although I had Meg to talk with as a friend, she _was_ the prima ballerina, and always had rehearsals and practice to attend. At home, at least one or two maids had been free to talk during one part of the day or another, and I was sorely feeling the need for female companionship.

'_Is this how Erik felt for most of his life_?' I asked myself. '_It must be. How would it feel to grow up without love or friends_? _How does a man go throughout life without friendship or kindness_?'

It was unthinkable, this idea of someone being shunned because of their face. I was positive that Erik's deformity could not possibly be _that_ bad, and even if it was, I knew he had at least half of a 'real' face. Even with half a mask that covered up the right side of his face, I could tell that he had most of a nose. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to sing in his opera or talk without sounding nasal; since he could clearly both talk and sing without difficulty, his facial flaw could (literally) be merely skin deep.

Of course, I wasn't going to ask him to take off his mask just to prove my theory; I had heard how angry he had been when he had been exposed onstage, and I did not want to end up dancing at the end of a rope because of my curiosity! If Erik wanted to show me his face, then he would do so under his own terms, not because of my forceful hand. That still didn't stop my mind from painting images of what he might actually look like, though…

The grating noise of the large portcullis rising from the lake made me sit up in bed. Reaching out a hand, I pulled up the lace curtain and listened as the sound of a boat being guided through water reached my ears. Erik was home! Hopefully the evening had gone well, and if it had, then perhaps he would let me go home back to my father! If we had a patron, so much the better!

Leaping out of bed, I put my feet into my slippers and fumbled to find my robe in the darkness. I had blown out most of the candles ages ago, so the room was fairly dark. However, there was one lit candle on the far side of the room, so I managed to carefully locate my robe and put it on without any unfortunate accidents or episodes. Once I deemed myself fit, I made my way out of my room and into the main caverns.

Erik had just finished poling up to the edge of the rock and was attaching the boat to shore. With a swish of his cloak, he was on land, and as he approached the hallway leading to his room, his fierce green eyes looked up and landed on me.

* * *

The sight of Aria standing there in nothing but a nightgown and robe made him pause. Her hair was loose, flowing elegantly down her back in dark brown waves that shimmered from the light off of the lake. She was like the mysterious Lady of the Lake in King Arthur's tale, and in the back of his mind, Erik was beginning to paint a portrait that would capture this moment forever. 

Blinking furiously, Erik fought his way back to the present. "What are you doing awake?" he demanded, not wanting to be stuck in his fantasy much longer. "It is well-past midnight! You should be asleep in bed!"

He tried to keep himself from rushing to Aria's side as she stood there, looking at him with wide, dark chocolate-brown eyes. "I heard you come back," she whispered, looking downwards towards the stone floor. "I wanted to see how the evening went, but if you are tired and angry, I will ask about it tomorrow." She took a step back towards the red curtain that hung across her doorway. "Goodnight."

A stab of guilt pierced his heart. "No, wait!" Erik called out before he could stop himself. Aria stopped and looked at him. "I must change out of my formal attire. Would you join me in the kitchen in ten minutes?"

She gave him a small, timid smile before making her way towards their meeting place. As she did so, Erik began inwardly cursing this new-found conscience of his as he stalked to his room to change. Right now, he didn't know if having Aria Craven down here with him was a gift or a curse.

* * *

I knew that Erik was not happy about talking together on the subject of the opening night, but I still felt cheerful about it. There was the promise of my returning to my father, of course, but there was also the prospect of being informed about the evening's events and fashions. With Erik's deep, beautiful voice telling me everything I wanted to know, it was bound to be an interesting night. 

While he changed, I put on a pot of tea and pulled out a plate of pastries that I had made earlier that night, right after Erik had gone. Since I'd had nothing to do, and since I was angry about being left behind, I'd decided to bake. For some reason, baking was something I tended to do while I was angry, and every time I made something while upset, the end result was always perfect. If I tried to make something while I was happy, sad, or calm, my treats turned out as it normally should, but for one odd reason or another, baking something while angry made things turn out better than it should.

While the water heated, I tried to decide which tea would go well with the tiny jam-filled tarts. I placed two cups and saucers on the table and chose a calming tea to help soothe Erik's nerves. When the kettle whistled, I put a few spoonfuls into the bubbling water to steep. Everything was ready by the time Erik arrived, and when he sat down, I poured him a cup of tea as he stared at the pastries.

"Did you make these?" he asked, inspecting the plate carefully with his eyes.

"Yes, I did," I replied while pushing a filled cup towards him.

Erik accepted the cup and took a sip. One hand reached up and hovered above the plate for a moment before picking up a tart. Giving it one last glance, he popped it into his mouth and began to chew. I watched in amusement as green eyes went wide before closing in bliss.

"How are they?" I asked, keeping my voice soft. His only reply was to open his eyes and reach for another tart as he sipped his tea. '_Well, perhaps Mrs. Gardener had been right: the way to a man's heart **is** through his stomach_!'

As his second tart vanished into his mouth, Erik gestured for me to sit down. I gladly did so and leaned forwards, eager to hear how the evening went. Unfortunately, I had to wait for Erik to eat half of the pastries before he would finally speak to me.

"You have a talent with baking," he said as he wiped out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. "These are delicious. If you continue to make more in the future, I would be reluctant to let you go."

The feeling of alarm I felt inside at his words faded when I saw his mouth tug upwards slightly. '_Oh, goodness, he's joking with me_!' I thought as I weakly smiled back at him.

Then the amusement faded on Erik's face. "Seriously, mademoiselle, I am afraid I cannot let you go as of yet," he said, shaking his head solemnly. "Your father and uncle have not yet secured a patron for the Opera House, though they have several interested parties. Until someone formally comes forward and decides to finance the Populaire, I am afraid that you must remain with me, if only to as a way for me to get my way in the future."

I let my shoulders sag in disappointment. I had truly hoped that someone in the wealthy class would offer to be a patron, but no one had. Still, there was hope that someone might, just might, step forward to do just that; I would merely have to wait and be patient. Besides, living with Erik was not so horrible; he was not hostile towards me, and he had never really harmed me in any physical way. Oh, he sometimes lost his temper, but that I expected. If he tried to harm me with his fists, though, I would not hesitate to smash something heavy over his head in order to defend myself.

Across from me, Erik cleared his throat, causing me to look up at him. "I am sorry for denying you the right to see the opera, but I could describe it to you, if you'd like."

My interest was peaked, and I found myself leaning forwards, listening as Erik described every aspect of the performance.

* * *

Never in his life had Erik made anyone laugh before…or, at least, not intentionally. Many of the shows the gypsies had displayed him in had made the crowd laugh at him and his horrid face, right before rotten food was thrown at him. This time, however, was different. He was relaying the events of the evening to Aria, and she was laughing at his critiques about the dancers and singers. 

"Oh, goodness," she was saying as she wiped a sleeve over her eyes. Tears of laughter were running down her cheeks, and for some reason, it made him happy to see her laugh. "Oh, that is wonderful…you should be a critic for one of the newspapers, you are so much more truthful and humorous than they are!"

Erik felt himself preen at her compliment. "Thank you," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Of course, that would be the exact reason I could never be hired to work for them." He snorted and shook his head. "Honestly, the critics of the Paris newspapers are as thick-headed and foolish about opera as children. They do not know what is good and what is bad, only praising one singer over another just because her face is attractive or her other 'assets' are noticeable."

Aria laughed again, though this time she kept her tears under control. "Yes, that is true," she said with one last giggle. "Of course, I know something about music, as my grandmother took me to several countries to see and hear music and opera at its best, but there are others who would not know a good performance if you shoved it down their throats."

"Exactly," Erik said, nodding in agreement. "To be brutally honest, Aria, your father and uncle have hired a relatively good singer, if only she would not try and force the notes out. She sounds like a cat having its tail stepped on…by a horse! And good Lord, the dancers…"

Another bout of laughter erupted from her lips. "Are they really that bad?" Aria asked. "I mean, Madame Giry is supposed to be a wonderful teacher, and she seems strict enough to keep them in hand. Surely she has her ballerinas work their feet to the bone at every rehearsal."

He offered his empty cup, which she quickly refilled. "Yes, Madame Giry is very good at what she does, but there is only so much she can teach them." He took a sip of tea, savoring the warmth it gave him in the coolness of the caverns. "The dancers work hard, but some do not work hard enough to learn the routines and merely try their best to _look_ like the others do. Little Meg Giry, for instance, is one that the others try to emulate, but fail in their tasks to do so. Little Giry works like mad to stay in her position as prima ballerina, and to please her mother; thus, she is successful."

"It's because she has motivation," Aria said while pouring herself another cup of tea. She then set the pot down and reached for a jam tart. "She has something to work for, and so she does it. Perhaps if the other girls had something to work for, or at least someone to please besides the ballet mistress, they would work harder?"

He was silent for a moment as he thought over her words. Perhaps if he asked the managers to give them a little monetary bonus for every performance done well, the ballet rats would work harder. It was worth considering, and might be worth it, if only to make the operas better. As for the lead soprano…a few well-placed notes in her dressing room to practice more often should do the trick.

"What about the party? What was everyone doing or wearing?" Aria asked as she bit into her tart.

Erik barely bit back a sigh. The last thing he wanted to talk about was feminine fashion, due to the fact that he knew nothing about the subject. But if fashion was what she wanted…then that was what she was going to receive.

* * *

As Erik described all of the gowns, jewels, and hairstyles, I found myself lost in his voice. When he had been talking about the music of the opera, it was as though he were speaking from his soul; his very being seemed to glow with excitement and knowledge of it. I believed every word that he said, especially when he criticized the lead soprano and the dancers on their flaws. I knew that what he said was true, as I had often heard the leading lady sing at rehearsals, right before I had been brought here. 

'_Bad enough that the woman has an accent that could ruin a perfectly good opera_,' I thought as Erik described one woman's diamond-and-sapphire necklace that clashed with her bright green gown.

The dancers…well, the only truly talented one there was Meg, and that was because she had probably been taught to dance since the day she could imitate whatever her mother showed her. No doubt Meg was also probably born with talent, as her mother had been a dancer for nearly all of her life. Since the day of their arrival at the Opera House, the other ballerinas had had a great deal to learn, and not as much time to learn it. In a way, I pitied them for that, but knew that if they wanted to succeed, they needed to work to get far in the theater world.

Just then, I heard something chime in the background, the noise stopping Erik mid-sentence as he turned his head to look for the source. The chiming rang out three times, then stopped. Erik rose from his seat and went out into the main cavern, leaving me puzzled as to what the sound was. He returned momentarily with a small smile on his lips.

"It is late," he declared, holding up a small watch. "I designed this to chime when it grew too late in the evening to continue composing. It is meant to signal that it was time to stop for the night and to go to bed and rest."

Well, if the watch was made to chime at such a late hour, it was no wonder I had never heard it before! I was usually asleep by eleven o' clock, at the latest, but Erik tended to keep late hours as he worked on his music; small wonder that he needed something to tell him to go to bed.

I quickly stood up from my chair and reached for the dirty dishes. "I'll put these away before I go to bed," I said while stacking the tea cups. "You've had a long evening, and should get some sleep."

Erik shook his head. "It is late for us both. The dishes can wait until morning," he sternly replied as he walked over to me. His hands gently took the cups and put them down on the table. "Go to bed and sleep as long as you like. You know I rise late, so you should as well, if only this once."

"Thank you," I said, giving him a tired smile. "Will I see you in the morning?"

He was silent for a moment before shaking his head. "I have business to take care of tomorrow," he replied, shifting from foot to foot as he looked at the ground. "However, I will be back for lunch…"

Green eyes glanced upwards and met mine. I felt my heart swell inside me, a burning warmth suddenly spreading through my veins to the far reaches of my fingers and toes. A blush filled my cheeks as I ducked my head, trying to hide my embarrassment.

"I will see you tomorrow afternoon, then," I muttered, my eyes staring deep into Erik's.

"Goodnight, Aria," he whispered, quickly backing out of the kitchen and into the main cavern.

By the time I followed him, Erik was gone.

* * *

Lying in bed, Erik started at the ceiling and wondered what had happened. Why did he act like a besotted schoolboy whenever Aria laughed, smiled, or blushed? After Christine, he had sworn never to love another woman; after all, who in the world could compare to his Angel? Christine had been everything he desired in a woman: gifted in song and music, beautiful, sweet, and with the most innocent brown eyes he had ever seen. 

'_Aria has brown eyes_.' The sudden thought rose unbidden in the back of his head.

Furious, Erik pushed the thought away. Yes, Aria had the same color of eyes that Christine had, and the same hair color as well. But where Christine's hair had been curly, Aria's brown locks were straight and flowing, like a stream in spring sunlight. Aria was also shorter than Christine, and not as thin and wisp-like, nor as graceful; instead, Aria bore the curves of a full-grown woman, a figure that many woman were sure to envy.

"Stop it!" Erik hissed to himself, rolling over onto his side.

Why could he not get Aria out of his head? For five years Christine had been at the forefront of his thoughts, and now his memories of her were being replaced by those of another woman! How could he betray her memory that way?

'_But it's not **really** a betrayal_,' whispered that voice again. '_She left you for her Viscompt, remember_? _She loved him and married him five years ago, if you remember the newspaper printings. You are betraying nothing to a woman who never loved you as you wished she could_.'

Clutching his head, Erik tried to shut out the voice, but failed. Whatever it was, it was right. Christine had never loved him, or if she had, it had been the love for an Angel believed to be her dead father. Once she had seen him as he truly was, she had been horrified; he should have seen that as the first sign that she could never love him or be with him.

'_But I was desperate_,' he thought, a tear slipping down his face.

Alone for so many years and shunned by the world, Erik had felt that Christine was his last chance at finding someone to love, someone to be with him always in the darkness of these caves. He had heard her clear, beautiful voice singing a hymn for her father, and believed that their love of music would be enough to bond them together. Music had always been something he'd loved, and in sharing that love with Christine, he'd hoped to change that love of music into a love she could feel for _him_. For ten years Erik had trained and molded his Angel into the perfect soprano, and just when he had gathered the courage to reveal himself to her, that fop the Viscompt had appeared to woo his childhood sweetheart, Christine. And now he was alone again.

'_Not really alone_,' that little voice whispered. '_There is a very attractive young woman sleeping just down the hall from you…a woman who has been kind to you, and has talked and laughed with you in a way no one else has. When had Christine ever done that_?'

_That_ little question made Erik stop and think. Christine had thought of him as a creature without emotion, an Angel or a Ghost. Aria, however, saw him and treated him as a man; she engaged in intelligent conversations with him, she listened to him when he spoke, and she laughed delightfully at his words. Perhaps it _was_ time to move on and forget the past.

And perhaps Aria Craven would be just the woman to save him from his solitude…

* * *

AN: Aw, poor Erik! I hope you liked the chapter and will review! Thanks! 


	13. New Plans and Actions

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: More fluff in this chapter. I know that people are probably getting tired of it, but I really didn't want them to fall in love too quickly, as it doesn't seem realistic. Enjoy the happy-fluffy-sap while you can…the angst and drama is going to start soon, so beware! Thanks, and please review!

**Chapter 13: New Plans and Actions: **

A week after the opening night performance and party, an elderly gentleman by the name of Alain Aubert walked into the Opera House and demanded to see the managers. Had he run into just any ordinary worker at the Populaire, he would have been fussed and fawned over until he became annoyed and left the building. As it so happens, the first person that Monsieur Aubert encountered was Madame Giry, who had been on her way to visit the managers in the first place.

Now, Madame Giry was no fool, and she had seen many sorts of people come and go from the Opera Populaire over the years. Whenever someone she did not know or recognize entered the building and demanded to see the managers, changes or events tended to happen. Usually the visitors were men or women looking for work, and most were hired on with little trouble. Occasionally, a poor, unfortunate, orphaned child would wander in, begging for food and a place to rest for the night, only to end up working in the Populaire until they matured and left on their own.

However, this visitor, Alain Aubert, was well-dressed and obviously very wealthy. Madame Giry knew how to spot aristocrats and wealthy men, so when this particular gentleman demanded to see the managers, she immediately asked his name and business, gave a brisk nod at his reply, and asked him to follow her. After leading him through several hallways, she stopped before the door marked "Manager's Office," gave a quick knock, and entered when summoned inside.

"Monsieur Gregory Craven," she said to the lone man inside the office. "This is Monsieur Alain Aubert, and he claims to have a proposition for you and your brother."

Gregory immediately went into action, seating the older gentleman and pouring him a glass of brandy before anyone could blink twice. Monsieur Aubert was a bit surprised at first, but soon became very comfortable in the presence of a welcoming host. Meanwhile, Madame Giry was sent to fetch Monsieur Roland Craven, a task she was not very happy about; after all, she was the ballet mistress, not an errand boy! But Roland Craven was sent for, and he quickly arrived at the office he shared with his brother, looking rather excited about the whole thing.

As the gentlemen made themselves comfortable with drinks, cigars, and jokes, Antoinette Giry settled herself in one of the hidden corridors behind the walls of their office, her ears open to their conversation. She had learned about the secret passages from her connection to the Opera Ghost, and though he was loath to sharing them, Antoinette made use of them whenever she felt that the topic being discussed might be of some use to her. Today was just such a day.

Looking through the little hole in the wall, Madame Giry watched the men smoked and swirled their drinks in their glasses before rolling her eyes. Why did men always take too long to get to the point? Women took their time as well, but for a proposition such as this, time was of the essence. Just that morning, Madame had woken up to two notes on her dressing table, the wax seals sending chills up her spine. One message had been addressed to her, and the other was for the managers.

Madame's note had been brief instructions on what to do that day. Apparently, Erik was getting impatient about the lack of a patron for the Populaire, and he wanted Antoinette to deliver his note of disappointment to the fools running his Opera House. For once, Madame agreed with him, and was actually happy to deliver this note on behalf of the Ghost. Although the opening performance of **_The Magic Flute_** had made a great deal of money, it was just barely enough to reimburse the Craven brothers. It would not do to live from performance to performance; there was always the chance that not enough money could be made to create a whole new opera, and that would be a disaster. People expected opulence and wonder when they went to the theater, and without the money it took to put on an opera to meet expectations, the Populaire would fail.

Since no patron meant no future performances, Madame Giry knew that Meg's future was at stake. All Meg had ever known was the world of dance, and once she was older and no longer able to dance, Madame hoped that Meg would take over as ballet mistress once Madame had retired. If the Populaire failed and everyone lost their positions, what would happen to poor Meg? Perhaps she would go to Russia or another opera house, but Madame Giry couldn't bear the idea of being separated from her daughter. She was too old to travel these days.

Finally, Madame heard one of them begin to speak, and couldn't help smiling at what was being said.

* * *

For nearly a week now, Erik had been watching what was happening inside the Opera House. To his frustration and disappointment, no one had come forward with an offer to patron the Populaire, and now he was beginning to get angry. Those two idiots known as the Craven brothers had to have a way to obtain a patron somehow! Since they had managed to regain their fortunes through the success of **_The Magic Flute_**, they had to know how to get a fellow aristocrat to finance the Populaire! 

Just as the week was out, Erik began to realize that he had been acting out his frustration on Aria; by now, it was evident that the young woman was beginning to become frightened of him, and was possibly hurt at the way he had been treating her. Whenever she had asked him an innocent question, he had snapped at her, demanding that she stop chattering like a fool and leave him be. Sometimes he would push aside his meal and stalk out of the kitchen area for no reason at all, immediately going to his organ to vent his anger. Worst of all was when the look in his eyes sent poor Aria scurrying for her room, the one place in his home he refused to enter, as it was her sanctuary.

'_I must stop this_,' he realized as he strode up towards the Opera House to meet Madame Giry. '_This is doing no good whatsoever, and it is terrifying and hurting Aria. I can't continue on like this_.'

But that would be after he finished his business. Today marked exactly one week after the opening of **_The Magic Flute_**, and Erik had decided to commemorate the day with a message to the managers. He had left two carefully composed notes in Madame Giry's bedroom, one addressed to her and the other for his incapable managers. Normally, he avoided her room as a sign of respect and thanks for all that she did for him. However, this was important, as it included the well-being of not only the Opera House, but also all of its employees. Thus, he had slipped into Madame's room and left her instructions to give the managers his message.

His first visit to her rooms had been several hours ago, and now Erik was impatiently watching Madame's hallway, waiting for her to return. It should have taken her no more than ten minutes to deliver the note, and perhaps half an hour more to receive a reply, so what was taking her so long? Then, just as he was about to send a fist flying against a wall, he saw a familiar figure coming towards him. Patiently, he waited until she was only a few feet in front of him before revealing himself.

"Oh, Erik, for goodness sakes!" Madame gasped while she tried to compose herself. She sighed when she saw he was waiting for her. "Oh, very well. I have some news regarding the managers."

A dark eyebrow quirked as his interest was peeked. "Yes?" Erik replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited. "It is good news, I hope."

"It is," Madame hastily assured him. "There is now a patron for the Opera House."

For a moment, all Erik could do was stand there and stare at the woman before him. Emotions boiled within him, and he didn't know which one to feel first. Of course, he was thrilled that there would be money flowing into the Opera Populaire once more…but he also felt despair, for he knew that he now had no real reason to keep Aria with him anymore.

'_But_ _I can't let her go_,' he thought, determined to get his way. '_I can't let Aria return to her family. Not yet, not when I don't know if they really deserve to have her back_.' Yes, that was the perfect excuse. Erik had told Aria that he _might_ return her home if/when a patron was found, but he hadn't truly sworn that he _would_.

The truth was he did not want her to go. So many years alone had left him thirsting and hungering for company in his solitude, and now there it was, sitting in his home in the form of a young woman. How could he return to being alone after he had tasted the sweetness that was companionship?

Madame Giry was still talking, evidently thinking that his silence was a signal for details. "A Monsieur Alain Aubert, who is a wealthy bachelor with no family, has come forward, demanding to be the Populaire's patron," Madame explained in a rush. "Apparently he was away on business and did not find out about the opening night until he returned late yesterday afternoon. As it turns out, Monsieur Aubert has a fondness for music and the arts, and was shocked to learn that no one offered to become a patron to the Opera House."

By now, Erik had grown suspicious of the man. "I don't suppose there is anything _specific_ I should now about the man, is there?" he asked, looking Madame Giry straight in the eye. "That is to say, he isn't going to make things difficult for everyone, just because he's the first and _only_ man to offer his patronage, is he?"

To his relief, Madame shook her head. "Monsieur Aubert is a bachelor with no children to inherit his fortunes," she replied. "He is practically giving his fortune to the Opera House because he does not wish his spoiled, witless nephews to inherit his money. This is why he doesn't really care if you cause damages through your pranks, as he is perfectly willing to pay whatever it costs to fix it."

Erik grinned broadly. "Thank you, Madame," he said, giving her a slight bow. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a great deal of planning to do." He turned away to return home.

"Erik, wait!" He turned his head to face her. Madame Giry stood straighter so that she could confront him. "When will you be returning Mademoiselle Craven to her father and uncle?"

"I will return her when I wish to," he snapped before turning and stalking off, leaving her standing in the shadows as one single thought raced through his head.

'_But I do not wish to let her go…ever._'

* * *

Erik had been in a dark mood for days, and it was beginning to both scare and annoy me. I knew it was because there was no patron for the Opera House just yet, but there was no need to constantly snap at me and insult me with harsh glares. 

As I prepared dinner for this evening, I realized that Erik had been so upset because the Populaire meant so much to him. He had lived here for most of his life, and the thought of losing it probably tore at him. If it were my home that was at risk and in need of money, I would certainly be angry as well, and would probably do anything in order to save it.

A familiar footstep in the doorway caused me to turn my head slightly. Erik stood there, and he had something in his hands. It also appeared that he wanted to speak to me, but was afraid of scaring me. The idea of a timid Erik was rather sweet, so I put down the wooden spoon I was holding and wiped my hands on a towel before turning around to address him. Once I saw what he had, though, I froze.

In his arms was a bouquet of a dozen red and white roses, tied together with gold-and-black ribbon.

* * *

Erik nervously cleared his throat. "I brought these for you, to apologize for my behavior these past few days," he murmured, shifting around slightly on his feet. 

Inside, his heart was pounding. This was the first time in his life that he had apologized for his behavior, and it was discomforting. He'd never fully expressed regret before, not even to Christine as he released her and her beloved. At that time, his only regret was that he had to watch her sail away into the distance, and that he had not succeeded in making her love him.

This time was different, in more ways than he could possibly imagine. He had acted against the one woman who treated him kindly, and he had spurned her and hurt her emotionally when she did not deserve it. Aria, who was looking at him again with those beautiful deep brown eyes, had given him the warmth of friendship, something he never thought to experience in his life. His acts against that friendship likely hurt her far more than he could ever hope to repay.

Standing there in the doorway, Erik watched as she slowly approached, her hands rising up to accept the flowers from his. It was like watching a beautiful, delicate doe drawing nearer to an outstretched hand. Erik was afraid to move, afraid to breathe should his actions suddenly frighten her away. He waited silently as she took the roses and rested them in the crook of an elbow, her head bending down to give them a delicate sniff.

"Roses," she murmured as her eyes closed in pleasure. "I love roses…" Aria then opened her eyes and looked at him. "No one has ever given me roses like this before. Thank you, Erik."

To his shock, she stepped forward, resting a gentle hand on his arm before pressing a sweet, delicate kiss on the cheek. It was surreal, this feeling rushing through him as Aria drew back, her feet carrying her towards the counter where she found a tall vase in which to put the colorful blossoms. A little bit of water, and the vase soon decorated the dinner table.

"There, isn't that lovely?" she asked while 'fluffing' the roses so that they arranged better.

Inside, Erik wondered how to tell her that she was far lovelier than the flowers ever hoped to be?

* * *

'_Oh, goodness, I kissed Erik on the cheek_!' I thought while I attempted to return to finishing dinner. '_What was I thinking_?' 

I knew that Erik had silently turned and left the kitchen after I had arranged the flowers on the table, for when I looked back at him, he was gone. I knew that my kiss had surprised him, but he did not seem to mind it at all. Perhaps it was because he hadn't received many kisses in his life, and that is why he had appeared so shocked and obviously very pleased. I had gotten many kisses in my life, all of them from my family members and friends, so I was no stranger to them. And yet, I couldn't help but wonder whether the one I had given Erik was that of a friend…or something else.

'_A friend_,' I firmly told myself as I finished up the mashed potatoes I had been mixing earlier. '_It was definitely a kiss between friends_.'

As I gently moved the vase out of the way so that I could set the plate of roast beef and the bowl of potatoes on the table, I knew I wasn't being truthful. I was attracted to Erik, and I couldn't help myself. I'd never had a suitor back home in England, though that was mostly from lack of trying to find a husband. For so long I had been absorbed in my family that I never thought to get married; in a way, my cousins were like my children, and I did my best to help my aunts and uncles raise them correctly and properly. Papa never pressured me to marry, and though I was an 'old maid,' I had no problem with being this way. After all, I had a fortune of my own to inherit when Papa died (may that not happen for years to come), so I wasn't really obliged to marry.

But the other reason I didn't wed was because no man truly caught my eye. I did not want a rich husband, as I already had money that I could live on for the rest of my life. If I did marry, I wanted it to be for love. I watched my aunts and uncles together, and saw how happy they were as they had all married for love. They were all of the same class, of course, but they still loved one another, and that was what I wanted the most. Even Grandmother and Grandfather had wedded for love, though the fact that they were both of the upper class helped their families approve the match.

'_But do I love Erik_?' I asked myself as I gazed at the roses.

Well, Erik certainly was a handsome man, and he possessed a fantastic genius that I greatly admired and respected. He was brilliant in art, music, and literature, and while I _should_ have felt insignificant to him, I didn't. While his ability to produce glorious works was something I would always envy, I still felt his joy whenever he finished a painting, a sculpture, or a page of music. Best of all was that he treated me like an equal, something no man outside my family had ever done.

"Is supper ready?"

I whirled around. There stood Erik, once more in a white shirt, black pants and boots, and the green robe that matched his eyes. "Oh, yes, it is," I replied with a smile. "I was just about to call you."

He gave me a timid smile in return before sitting himself down at the table. I took a place beside him, which was unusual for us. Normally I sat across the table from him, but with the roses there, I did not want them creating a wall between us. Instead, I sat beside him and passed him the platters of meat or potatoes whenever he asked for them.

As a habit, most of the meal was silent, so imagine my surprise when Erik decided to ask a question just as I brought out the dishes of berries and sweet whipped cream for dessert.

"When they were here, I overheard your aunts talking about your uncles," he said as he picked up a spoon. "They were talking about their artistic talents, as well as theirs."

I blushed, suddenly feeling a little ashamed that I lacked the abilities that Erik possessed so much of. "Yes, my family is quite involved in the arts," I said while sitting down to my own dish of fruit. "You see, although we are wealthy, my family loves art and music so much that they can't help but try and see if they have any hidden talents themselves."

"That is quite unusual for the upper class. May I ask which talents your family members possess?" Erik asked as his spoon approached his lips, hovering there just before he put it in his mouth.

I swallowed my own mouthful before explaining further. "Well, my grandmother is a painter of murals, and several of my aunts and female cousins are involved in painting." I went though the list inside my head. "I also have uncles who sculpt, play music, and even carve wood and paint it in order to make pieces for me and toys for my cousins. My aunts either play instruments, paint, or dance."

Erik quickly swallowed and scooped up another spoonful. "And what is your talent, if I may ask? I imagine that you hold some sort of talent, given your family's traits in that area."

My eyes lowered. "I'm afraid I don't have any," I softly replied, looking down into my dish. A firm hand slid underneath my chin and made me look up into intense green eyes.

"You do have talent, Aria," Erik whispered. "You have the soul of an artist, and you must have _some_ means to express it. I know it is not drawing or painting, for I have seen you do neither one here in my home, as you have been surrounded by those tools and not shown the desire to use them."

I blushed slightly. "Well, I…I…I write…books…for children…for my cousins, to be exact." I blushed harder, thinking that he would laugh and tell me that what I did was not artistic talent.

To my surprise, Erik gave me a true, genuine smile and not a patronizing one. "Writing is a talent as great and as important as drawing, painting, or sculpture," he said, his thumb gently stroking my chin. "It is one that I admire as much as the others, if not more, for where would we be without the written word of authors like Thomas Moore, Machiavelli, or Ovid?"

My face felt as though it were on fire. "Thank you, Erik," I whispered, lowering my eyes shyly. He released my chin and returned to his dessert, which was half gone while mine was still nearly full. "I do love writing, you know. It makes me feel as though I am sharing something special with others, something that I hope they will love and enjoy reading or looking at." I smiled down into my dish. "I imagine that is the same reason that you write music."

Erik was quiet for a moment. "Yes, in a way, it is," he said, his voice soft.

I looked up at him and saw him smiling at me, as though pleased with my words. "Well, your music is beautiful," I said, timidly returning his smile. "It is unlike anything I have ever heard before; it is so new and different. I enjoy listening to your music very much every evening."

"Then perhaps you would like to hear more of it?" Slowly, Erik stood up and offered me his hand. "If you are finished with your dessert, of course."

* * *

He was thrilled when Aria slipped her fingers into his palm. Twice he'd held Christine's delicate hand in his, but he'd been gloved and hadn't really touched her. Besides **_Don Juan_**, when he'd greedily run his hands over Christine's body, he had never even caressed a woman's skin. 

This, however, was different. As he seated Aria in the music room, he felt more peaceful than he'd ever had before. He was being accepted by a woman who admired his talents for what they were, not because he had frightened her or forced her into doing so. Aria came from a gifted family, and therefore knew true art when she saw it. Setting his hands upon his organ, Erik felt as though he had found something in Aria that he hadn't truly felt before in his life…and that was _love_.

* * *

AN: Aw, he loves her! Now let the angst and drama begin! Dun, dun, DUN! Review! 


	14. Emotional Turmoil

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Guess who shows up in this chapter? I know, some of you might hate me because of this, but it's still critical to the storyline, so there it is. Don't forget to review and let me know what you think about this! Thanks!

**Chapter 14: Emotional Turmoil:**

Despite having a patron for the Opera House, as well as the almost never-ending funds that came along with it, Roland Craven could not stop pacing his office. Monsieur Alain Aubert was the patron every opera manager could hope for; he handed out money without asking what it was being used for, and he was present at every waking moment, his eyes eagerly watching the opera come together. Since Monsieur Aubert was such an admirer of music, Roland and Gregory had decided to let him choose the next performance piece, which would be the scandalous _**Carmen**_.

Although the running of an opera house tended to keep him busy, Roland was unable to put much of his heart and soul into it. Aria had been gone for well-over a month now, and even though he had received occasional notes about her welfare, they had been too few for his liking. Not long after Aubert had become the Populaire's patron, he'd gotten another note from his daughter. This one had been short and included Aria congratulating him on getting such a wonderful patron, and saying that she hoped that the next performance would go well. That note had been delivered a week ago, and Roland, much to the annoyance of his brother, was still fretting over it.

'_I cannot believe that she sent me a note that was so short_!' he thought to himself as he paced the floor. '_And for it to be so impersonal…it is not like her. Why, it's almost as if_…'

No, it couldn't be. Aria could not be growing comfortable with being a prisoner of the Ghost! No, that could not be. She was a smart girl; surely she knew that given the chance, the Ghost would kill her without a second thought. Perhaps she wrote so impersonally because she did not wish the Ghost to guess how much she meant to her family? If the Ghost ever found out how precious she was to others, he might take advantage of that, exploiting them to his own ends…though he did that already.

'_Whatever it is, it has to stop_,' Roland thought, halting in his footsteps. '_I have to get Aria back, but how_? _There is no way I could get her back on my own_!'

There was certainly no hope in receiving aid from the authorities; they did not believe that the Ghost existed, and would not grant him the manpower it would take to perform a search and rescue of the caves below. Gregory was no help, either, as he believed that if they merely kept the Ghost happy and paid off, no harm would come to Aria or anyone else. Even Madame Giry refused to help him!

'_A man would think that, with a young daughter of her own, Madame would be one of the first to offer help so I could get my child back from that madman_!'

The thought angered Roland to no end. How could a woman with a daughter not want to help a fellow parent in distress? Had the Ghost threatened her in some way, thereby preventing her from assisting others in trouble?

'_If Madame Giry is unable to help me, then there must be someone else who can aid me in this_.'

Gregory was no help, and Roland truly did not wish alarm his sisters, mother, or father to what was happening. The senior Lord Craven was rather sickly, and anything alarming would surely send him to his bedchamber, especially if it concerned his eldest grandchild. If Roland's father discovered that Aria was missing, Roland had no doubt that there would be an army of detectives and privately hired, fully-armed men storming the walls of the Populaire within a month. When it came to his family, Lord Craven would do everything in his power to keep them safe and protected.

'_No, I can't tell Mother or Father that Aria's been taken_,' Roland thought with a wince. '_If they decide to overreact and send in their own private army, the Ghost will probably kill Aria or run off with her as a hostage. I cannot let that happen_!'

His sisters would be useless in these matters, as they would likely pressure him into getting the local police involved. That would do no good, as the Chief of Police would refuse to lend even one man in the effort to locate and retrieve Aria from the Ghost. Perhaps his brothers-in-law would be of some help, but if they chose to side with their wives on the matter, then Roland might as well not have asked for assistance in the first place!

Suddenly, it hit him. There were two people who knew the Ghost very well, and Roland was willing to bet that at least one of them still feared the actions of the Ghost. Surely they would help him if he asked for it.

'_Well, there's only one way to find out_.'

* * *

"Welcome to the Opera Populaire, Monsieur and Madame de Chagny," Roland said with as sincere a smile as he could force onto his face. 

The smile, however, was a mask meant to fool the servants presently setting out trays of refreshments for the guests and their host. As the de Chagnys seated themselves on the couch across from Roland's chair, he took the time to examine them thoroughly.

When he'd first become interested in purchasing the Opera House, Roland had done his best to research everything he could about the past of the Populaire. He had heard and read a great deal about certain events, many of which had occurred more than twenty years before the horrendous fire. However, the most intriguing was the story of the soprano Christine Daae, her suitor Raoul de Chagny, and their involvement in the tragedy that took place over five years ago. However, Roland had not seen a single photograph of the couple, and he was shocked at how young they appeared.

Raoul de Chagny was everything a person imagined a nobleman to be. Tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and with boyish features, he was extremely handsome. Even though he was rich and had just inherited the title of Count from his deceased brother, Raoul had an easy air about him that did nothing to indicate that he was spoiled. In fact, Roland felt quite comfortable with the young man, and if there was anyone he wished Aria to be wedded to, Raoul was the example to compare other men to.

'_He's even got that noble air about him_,' Roland thought as the young man handed his wife a cup of tea with a loving smile. As the Countess de Chagny accepted the cup Roland began to discreetly examine her as well.

A remarkably beautiful young woman, Christine was a sight to break any man's heart. Wide brown eyes, full of innocence and wonder, were set in a lovely face the color of pale porcelain. Faint touches of light pink in her cheeks gave Christine a bit of color, though it appeared to be natural instead of added by a face brush. Roland could also tell that nothing had been added to bring out the rose-petal pink in Christine's lips.

'_She is like a living representation of Snow White_,' Roland thought, nodding respectfully towards the Countess as she smiled at him. '_I can see why the Ghost wanted her so badly_.'

Well, if beauty was any indication to talent, then Christine must have been a glorious singer as well. Even though he had never seen or heard her sing, Roland had heard so much praise about the young woman that he often envied those who had. _**Hannibal**_, _**Il Muto**_, and the horror that was _**Don Juan**_ had all been widely praised, and both Roland and his entire family wished that they had been in Paris to see them performed.

"Thank you for inviting us here, Monsieur Craven," the Countess said with a sweet smile. "It's been so long since we've been here, and I have missed my childhood home."

Ah, now if there was ever a friend that Roland wanted for his daughter, the Countess Christine de Chagny was it. Even though she had been brought up in the Opera House, Christine clearly had elegant manners, and was quite graceful in her movements. Aria would be sure to like the Countess, and it would be a great advantage to the family if the women could become friends.

"What was it you wished to speak to us about?" the Count asked, a glass of brandy in his hands.

Roland shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, you see…I'm afraid I have a rather…_unique_ problem, Monsieur and Madame."

"Oh, please, call us Raoul and Christine," the Countess said with another smile. "We are all friends here, are we not?"

Roland found himself smiling back. "Well, then, Raoul and Christine…I am afraid that I face a dire problem, one that is very similar to the one you both experienced five years ago."

The young couple froze in their seats, staring at him for a moment before Christine spoke. "The Phantom of the Opera? He came back after the burning of the Opera House?"

Roland watched as the Count reached out and took the hand of his wife. "You are sure that the monster has returned?" Raoul asked, blue eyes sparking with anger and just a touch of fear. "You said that you face the same problem that my wife and I suffered through those years ago."

Guilt rushed through Roland Craven's chest as he saw the couple cling to each other as though they were too terrified to let go. It pained him to force them into facing this situation once more, but he had no choice; they were his only hope of ever getting Aria back home safely.

"Yes, Raoul and Christine," the older man replied. "It is the same situation. Months ago, my brother Gregory and I purchased the rebuilt Populaire in the attempt to become more involved in the art scene of the world. We thought it a great investment, and once the transactions were complete, Gregory and I moved here, bringing with us my daughter, Aria."

"Aria," Christine whispered. "That is a sort of song…and it would explain some things, if you say next what I think you will…"

Roland sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Things were progressing quite well after we first arrived. Gregory and I both have a head for business and art, so we merely jumped right into creating a production for the public. Everything up until rehearsals was going absolutely wonderfully; the singers sounded good, the dancers were practicing like mad, and all of the artists had the props and backdrops being created with great speed. It was all so perfect…

"About a month and a half ago, I received a threatening note from a man claiming to be the Opera Ghost. He demanded money, Box 5, and gave orders on how to proceed to run _his_ Opera House. Of course, I thought it all a joke. After all, even the police denied that Phantom ever existed, so why should I have worried?" Reaching out, Roland poured himself a brandy and took a deep drink to calm his nerves. "Then the threats came along, saying that if I did not do as I was ordered, the Ghost would take something I treasured above all else. And six weeks ago…" Tears began to form in his eyes. "He took my daughter, Monsieur…he took my daughter Aria, and she is not much older than your wife is now."

By now the Count and his wife were both in shock. They looked as though they could not understand how the Phantom could have returned to Paris, and how no one would try and hunt the monster down and arrest him. The man was a criminal, an extortionist and a murderer, so why did the law sit back and allow this creature to continue preying on others?

"My daughter is not even gifted in music, Monsieur," Roland said, his voice soft as he spoke. "I cannot think of why he would take her, as she is not musical like the Countess is."

"She is not musical?" Christine asked, staring at him with wide brown eyes. "She is called Aria, but she has no musical talents, not even instrumental?"

Roland shook his head. "Aria is named for the sort of music her mother and I danced to when we first married," he explained. "She cannot play, sing, dance, or do anything even remotely musical. I believe she was just taken in order to keep me obeying the Ghost's demands."

"That might be the case," Raoul muttered, staring into his glass. "If Aria is not musical, then she cannot help him with his music. The only way she would be useful would be as a hostage to keep you and your brother bound to obey every note that arrives."

"Can Madame Giry not help you?" Christine asked. "She helped Raoul rescue me, after all."

"Madame Giry is useless in this case," Roland said in disgust. "She must have been taught a lesson after helping you, as she is not eager to help me locate and retrieve Aria."

Raoul turned and looked at his wife, who had lost all color in her cheeks. "The Phantom must have threatened to hurt Meg," he gently told her. "Madame would not risk her own daughter getting hurt or losing her place here for any reason."

Christine sighed and looked down at her hands. "You are right," she said. "But, Raoul, how are we to help this poor girl? You barely got out alive the last time you went down into the caverns, and I cannot bear to lose you now!"

Silence followed as the three sat there, thinking of how to help the poor woman being held prisoner down below.

* * *

Sitting in the comfortable atmosphere of the library, my book lay forgotten in my lap as I stared into the fire. My mind whirled around in circles as I tried to sort out all of the thoughts and emotional ideas going on inside my head. Everything had become so different since the night I had kissed Erik on the cheek, and that had been two days ago. Erik had retreated into himself a little, and I felt horrible for causing him such distress. 

'_You shouldn't have kissed him_,' I lectured myself. '_Erik has never known what it is like to have affection plied on him, and you just had to thank him with a kiss_. _No wonder he's so distant_! _He's probably confused as well, you silly thing_!'

Well, kissing him hadn't been so bad. I'd only ever kissed my grandfather, uncles, and Papa on the cheeks, and all of them had had some kind of rough stubble on their cheeks. Erik was different. His face had been smoothly and perfectly shaved, and the lotion he'd likely rubbed on had smelled both sensual and masculine at the same time. Where he'd gotten such a scent, I had no idea, but I knew that it had left me feeling a bit lightheaded.

'_But was it his aftershave_?' I asked myself. '_Well, it was either the aftershave or I am in_-'

No, I couldn't think it. Besides, I highly doubted that Erik did care for me in that way. I could not compare to his soprano in talents or in looks, so why would he fall in love with me in the first place? I could not sing, dance, or help him express his music; all I could do was write silly children's stories, and even then, it was only for my cousins! I had no real talent for artistic expression, so what did I have to offer a musical and artistic genius like Erik?

'_I have nothing_,' I thought, a tear running down my cheek. '_He wouldn't want my dowry, since he would never come aboveground to claim it. I'm no beauty, not like some of my cousins will be when they grow up_.'

I sighed in envy, just imagining all of my blonde-haired, blue-eyed cousins growing up to become beautiful young women or handsome young men. It hurt, knowing that I didn't have anything that would make me remarkable. Well, I could cook, but what good would that do once I was mistress of a house and had two dozen people working in the kitchens? Perhaps this was why no one ever arrived at my father's office with a marriage proposal: there was nothing unique about me to make me stand out amongst the other women in society.

Sighing once more, I rose from my chair and marked my place in my book, setting the text aside as I walked towards the library door.

* * *

'_You're avoiding her_,' chastised that voice in the back of his head. 

Erik growled and tried to ignore it. He'd long dubbed the voice as his conscience, and he found that he did not like it one bit. He had managed to live so long without one, so why was it suddenly there now? All it did was lecture him on what he was doing, then it had the audacity to say that _what_ he was doing was wrong. It annoyed him to no end, and when he tried to ignore it, it merely 'talked' louder than before.

However, he couldn't admit that the little voice was wrong. He _had_ been avoiding Aria, and it was all because of that kiss she had given him. To her, it had probably been a simple peck on the cheek, but to him, it was the world. Thus far in his life, Erik had only experienced two kisses, and the first had been out of desperation. But the one Aria had given him…

Sighing, Erik tried not to think about it, but the feeling of her lips brushing his cheek was burned forever into his mind. Her mouth had been soft and smooth, warm and slightly moist from her breath. The gentle brush of her lips had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, and he wanted desperately to feel that again. But how could he get Aria to grace him with another one of her kisses?

'_Go ask her_,' the voice suggested.

No, it could not be that simple…could it?

'_It wouldn't hurt to ask_,' the voice whispered again. '_If Aria was willing to do it before, she could be willing to do it again for you_.'

His need for Aria's lips against his unmarred cheek overwhelmed him, and before he could stop, Erik found himself standing before the doorway to the library, his hand turning the knob as he rushed to get inside. Imagine his surprise at the feel of Aria almost stumbling into his arms as he stepped through the doorway.

* * *

The last thing I had expected was for Erik to come storming into the library, a determined look in his eyes as he pushed through the doorway. I, myself, had been ready to exit the room, but when the door flew open, I lost my balance and nearly fell over in surprise. In my attempt to regain my footing, I threw myself forwards, only to fall into Erik's strong arms. 

"Oh!" I gasped, not really understanding what was happening or why.

Looking up, my eyes met a deep emerald gaze that burned with a fire that I could not begin to describe. I swallowed hard as my mouth went dry, my tongue dashing out to run along my lips in a nervous gesture. I watched as Erik's eyes drifted down slightly, those beautiful green eyes darkening nearly to black as they saw me lick my lips.

* * *

'_Dear God in heaven, her mouth_!' was all Erik could really think as he watched the pale pink tongue run over those lovely lips. 

How could she do that? Did she not know what she had already done to him with one innocent kiss? Was she trying to drive him mad by tempting him with what he could only dream to have?

'_But I must have it_,' he thought. '_I must have it_…_I must_…'

And so he leaned forward…and took it.

* * *

The feel of Erik's lips against mine was something I never dreamed of experiencing. His mouth was so soft and gentle, like warm silk rubbing against my own, and I found myself melting. I had to be dreaming, this could not be real. Erik loved his soprano, this I knew from the shrine he had dedicated to her memory. How could I possibly have made him forget a woman who looked and sang like an angel from heaven? No, it couldn't be…and yet a strong but gentle hand, pulling me against Erik's wonderfully muscular body as his mouth devoured mine, convinced me otherwise. 

Now I could feel his other hand slipping into my hair, pulling me tighter against him. It was surreal, like a dreamy fog was floating through me, and all I could see/smell/feel/taste was Erik. It was incredible, and I did not want it to stop. Sighing, I lost myself even further into the kiss.

* * *

Heaven on earth was the only way to describe what he was feeling. Aria's lips and body were fully pressed against him, but he still wanted more. Slowly, he pulled away, gasping for air, his breath hot as he let it out and pulled it in. Leaning closer for another kiss, three words left both his mouth and Aria's…three simple words he never thought to hear from a woman being held in his arms, or ever hoped to say to someone he truly cared about like he did with this woman. 

"I love you," they both whispered.

* * *

AN: (Gasp) They kissed and said they love each other! Review! 


	15. Revisiting the Past

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: Okay, before we go on, I'd like to say one thing: I don't like Christine. Not only did she break poor Erik's heart, but she's kind of borderline naïve-stupid-innocent…naively, stupidly innocent, actually, if that makes any sense. Therefore, I am going to _try_ and be nice to Christine, but I'm mostly going to be of mean, in a way. I hope that doesn't offend any Christine-lovers out there. Review!

**Chapter 15: Revisiting the Past:**

Upon leaving the Opera House, Raoul escorted Christine back to their hotel in the heart of Paris. It was, of course, the finest room in the finest hotel; Raoul spared no expense when it came to providing for his wife. After the difficult life that she'd led after her father died, Christine deserved the very best that he could offer her, including gifts, trips around the world, and a lovely house by the sea.

When their carriage arrived at the door, Raoul scrambled out in order to offer Christine a hand, as he did not like the idea of a valet doing it for him. She accepted with a smile and took his arm so that he could escort her to their room. A few of the employees waved or nodded their head respectfully as the de Chagnys passed by, since they _were_ nobility and deserved to be recognized as such.

However, in spite of their social standing, it had taken time for society to accept Christine as one of their own. She _had_ been the daughter of a violinist, and after he died, Christine was left with nothing but the honor of being Gustave Daae's orphaned child. It was still difficult for members of the aristocracy to forget that the new Countess had been raised (and danced) in the Opera Populaire since she had been seven-years-old. Some still remembered her as the soprano who performed in _**Hannibal**_ and _**Il Muto**_, and the woman who had been nearly seduced onstage during _**Don Juan**_.

Needless to say, Christine had been forced to put her lovely face, her sweet demeanor, and her elegant, charming manners to the test for the past five years. In the end, though, she had been accepted, if only for her beauty and sweetness. However, Raoul knew there was a hidden strength there, and he loved her all the more for it. If she had not been strong in spirit, Christine would never have won over the upper class, nor would she have been able to overcome the nightmare that the two of them had lived through all those years ago.

Biting back a sigh, Raoul led his beloved up the elevator and on to their rooms. There was a hot bath waiting, as well as a servant to take their orders for dinner that evening. While Christine entered the bathing room, Raoul ordered a roast beef supper for the both of them, as well as a bottle of Italian champagne to help them both relax afterwards. It had, after all, been a long day.

* * *

Christine managed to keep her silence on the situation until after the last supper dish was cleared away. Once the door shut behind the last servant, she turned fearful eyes towards her husband. Raoul, she knew, was worried as well. They both knew what might happen when it came to the Opera House, its managers, and the young woman who had been abducted. 

"What could he possibly want with her?" she asked, presenting the one question they were both probably thinking.

Raoul shook his head. "According to her father, Aria Craven has no musical talents whatsoever," he said, sitting back in his chair with a glass of champagne in his hands. Unlike most aristocratic men, Raoul was not one for strong liquor, except for when he was at social gatherings with friends.

"But you don't believe him," Christine said, raising her glass to her lips, hoping that the alcohol in the bubbly liquid would calm her nerves slightly. With her low tolerance for liquor, the champagne should help her sleep tonight.

Her husband shook his head, blonde hair tossing back and forth along side his face. "Why else would he take her if she had no talent for music?" he asked with a sigh. "True, he could use her as a bargaining chip to get what he wants, but that would only work for so long. If her father became desperate enough, he would hire men to go down there and fetch her, and having his home invaded by armed men would be the last thing that the Ghost would want."

"Perhaps it is because he longs to have someone with him as a companion in the darkness?" Christine slowly asked while barely fighting back a shiver.

How could the poor girl live down there for so long? Christine herself could hardly stand more than a few hours down there, surrounded in shadows and cold while candles barely fought the blackness all around her. When she had finally seen his face, she had been terrified of the strange man who had stolen her away, that same man who had tricked her into believing he was the ghost of her dead father. True, he had been kind to her at first, but his violent temper had frightened her beyond words.

'_When he had first appeared in the mirror, I had thought it a miracle_,' Christine thought as she gracefully sat back into her chair. '_I had thought that…well, I don't remember what I thought, but for a moment, it had been a wonderful vision_.'

And then her Angel had shown his true side. His anger, his horribly ravaged face, and his cold, dark home were more than enough to shock her back to her right mind. When she had seen that horrible mannequin made to look like her in a wedding gown, she had fainted. Upon waking and seeing his mangled, misshapen face, it had been enough to convince her that the man she had thought an angel was, in fact, a monster. When he had yelled at her and cursed her for prying where he thought she did not belong, she had seen what he truly was.

But his voice was still in her head, though very faintly. At first, after she and Raoul had gotten married, she had heard the Angel's commanding her from inside her mind, but had managed to go against those wishes. Over time, the voice had faded, though its presence was still there, chiding her in a faint whisper that only she could hear. It was horrible, but she had Raoul's brave, strong presence to help her; Christine highly doubted that Aria Craven would have someone like Raoul to help her.

"Oh, Raoul, what are we going to do?" she cried.

"Hush, my sweet Lotte," Raoul cooed as he left his chair and knelt before her, taking her glass so that he might hold both her hands in his. "I doubt that the Ghost merely wants her for company in the dark. After all, what sane woman would want to live down there in the cellars with the rats? No, I think it is because he means to make Mademoiselle Craven his next star, much like he tried to do with you. If he does this, then there will be no way to free her from him."

Christine couldn't hold back a gasp of fear. "Raoul, we must help her," she said, clutching his hands as though afraid to let them go. "I cannot let what happened before happen again!"

"We will save her, my Little Lotte," Raoul declared, his voice filled with determination as he embraced her.

For a long time, the two of them sat there, wondering what horrors poor Aria Craven was suffering through at that moment.

* * *

Needless to say, both Erik and I were in a state of shock following our kiss. Of course, our declaration of love to one another only made the atmosphere even tenser, and after we had professed our love for one another, Erik had fled the room in a panic. I had stood there, alone, for several minutes before realizing what had just happened; then I, too, had fled the library for the safety of my own room. 

As I walked passed Erik's bedroom, I had heard him muttering and walking around, saying things I could not understand. It was also in another language, so I assumed that, whatever he had to say, it couldn't be expressed in French. It certainly explained why he had moved on to another language in order to vent his emotions. What he was trying to say, I did not know, so I decided to leave him be and focus on my own thoughts and feelings as I got ready for bed.

While brushing out my hair in preparation for bed, I tried to think about what I knew. I knew I was in love with Erik, of that I was certain. He was so good, and so kind to me that it was impossible _not_ to feel something for him. At first, I had thought it a rather close friendship, one that could easily explain why I felt so comfortable around him and why I enjoyed his company. Erik certainly treated me as an intellectual equal and not like a stupid, empty-headed woman like others did. Even Papa occasionally acted as though he wanted to pat me gently on the head and send me on my way whenever I asked what he called "too many questions."

But Erik wasn't like most men. He was the most brilliant man I had ever known, and he had been kind enough to share his gifts with me. It did not matter that I was not musically or artistically talented; he was merely happy to play his music for me and to show me the beautiful pieces that he had been working on. Sometimes it felt as though he were asking my opinion about his work, and when I went back to look at it, the changes I had suggested were right there, carved into stone or painted onto an easel.

I had gone to bed that night dreaming about the kiss we had shared, and when I woke, I swore I could still feel his hands and arms around me. I had felt safe and warm until the moment I opened my eyes, and when I did, I was greeted with the black lace of the curtain, the warmth of my body the only comforting thing in the bed. Not wanting that wonderful warm feeling to leave me, I had gone back to sleep, closing my eyes against the world so that I could once more be in Erik's arms, if only for a little while in my dreams.

I awoke a second time with the strangest feeling of something caressing my forehead. My eyes fluttered open to meet orbs of the softest emerald green looking down at me. The thing brushing against my forehead was Erik's hand, and he looked unusually worried. His hand suddenly stopped its movement, his palm against my head as though feeling for a fever.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, as though he feared speaking too loud would frighten me off the bed and out of the cavern. "It is nearly noon. When you did not appear to make lunch, I…"

My eyes blinked at him. It was noon? "I'm fine," I whispered back. "I was just tired, that's all."

"I…understand," Erik replied, keeping his voice soft as he looked away. "I'll leave you, then, if you wish to rest longer."

I quickly reached out and grasped his hand before he could pull it away from my head. "Erik…" He stopped and looked down at me. "Erik…I love you."

The expression on his face as I kissed his palm was priceless.

* * *

If there were a way to preserve this moment for all time, he would do it. The kiss pressed to his palm was like liquid fire, and he could feel its effects down to the very edge of his body. What sort of power did this young woman have over him? She claimed it was love… 

'_But is it really love? How can she truly love me_?' he asked himself, raising his eyes to stare into hers once more. '_Can this kind, warm, caring woman truly love a monster_?'

How does a woman fall in love with a Ghost? Or was he even a Ghost at all? For so long he had been without love or kindness, without pity or compassion, without the gentlest caress or the smallest kiss…without those experiences, he had deemed himself a monster, a creature that no human, man or woman, would ever want to look at or touch. He had long thought himself as something distant from humanity, and therefore was no longer part of it, if, in fact, he had ever been part of it before.

Only once had he ever felt something truly stir within him, and that had been when a little girl-child by the name of Christine came to the Opera House. Her sad, lonely voice had called out to him, begging for a love she had lost when her dear father died. That need to be loved had revived a part of Erik's soul that he had long believed dead, the part that desired to be wanted by another person. In Christine, he had found someone who both wanted and needed him in her life, and with that need of hers grew a need of his own. In Christine, he had thought he had found his salvation, the one who could take him out of his darkness and into the light of the world above. He had patiently waited as both she and her talents in song grew to the point where he had thought her mature enough to know who and what he truly was.

But love is blind, and Erik had been ignorant of the fact that Christine's mind had not developed as well as her body and voice. She was innocent in every aspect of the word, not even knowing that there were consequences to her actions whenever she did something wrong. He had been a fool, and had only realized it after he watching his Angel sail away with her beloved Raoul. When she left him, alone and broken, he had thought never to feel that way again.

And then, by some other magic he did not understand, another angel entered his life, the one who now sat there with her shimmering brown hair mussed with sleep and her brown eyes staring at him full of love and warmth…

He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, just to be sure this was real and not some beautiful torture brought upon him by his own twisted mind.

* * *

I could feel the desperation in Erik's kiss as he pressed his lips against mine. I knew that he longed to be sure that I truly loved him, to know that this was not some sort of strange dream that he had been experiencing this past day. His hands were now tightly wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer against him as he kissed me. I could taste his tears as he wept, and when I put my arms around his neck, the dam burst. 

It was so sudden, and yet so expected. I held on to him tightly as Erik pressed his face into the crevice between my neck and shoulder, his tears soaking my nightgown as he softly pleaded for me to tell him that this was really happening to him. I could only hold him as he cried, his sobs slowly ebbing to nothing as we kept hold of one another. After a few moments, his cries had ceased, though we still gripped each other as though for dear life.

"Tell me you love me again," he whispered into my ear. "Tell me that this is real, and that everything you say is true."

A small smile tugged at my lips as I replied. "I do love you, Erik," I said, keeping my voice soft as I spoke. "I truly do love you, and yes, this is quite real." I smiled a bit wider. "If you like, I could pinch you, just to be sure." I waited, just to be sure that I hadn't done anything to upset him.

To my relief, Erik laughed a little and pulled back, though he still kept his arms wrapped around me. "You are so good," he said, raising one hand up to gently touch my face. "How can you be so good to a monster like me, to a man with a face like mine…?"

I watched as his hand shifted from my face to his own, pressing against the white leather mask. Slowly, I reached up and pulled his hand away. "Your face does not bother me," I said, looking deep into his eyes. "I never even notice it anymore, and it does not make me love you any less. You are a man, Erik…a good, _brilliant_ man who had been dealt some horrible things in his life, but you are still a man. I see that, even if no one else does."

Emerald orbs looked down, away from mine. "But you have not yet seen the horror that I was born with," he said. "If I show you…"

"If you show me, then I will still be here," I firmly replied, the tone of my voice causing him to look up at me. "If you do not show me, I will be here. I am no fool, Erik, and I will not force you to show yourself to me against your will. If or when you choose to remove your mask, it will be of your own hand, not mine."

"So be it," he whispered with a bow of his head.

Then, before I could stop him, he lifted his hand and removed his mask.

* * *

Closing his eyes, Erik waited. He knew what would come, and he dreaded it. Now Aria would come to her senses and tell him that they could never be together, that she could never love a man with such a twisted, horrible face. 

"Well, I was right," she said. "It's not as bad as I thought."

Erik's eyes flew wide open. "_What_?" he blurted out, wondering if he had heard her words correctly.

Aria's face was calm and, strangely enough, she was _smiling_ at him. "I said that it is not as bad I had thought it would be. Really, it looks more like a terrible sunburn than anything else. Have you tried putting a soothing lotion on it? It looks as though it has been irritated by the mask you wear, and irritation to the skin would make it appear worse than it actually is."

All Erik could do was gape at her. Was she serious, or was she merely mocking him? But he could see no wicked gleam in her eyes, and she seemed perfectly at ease with his unmasked face, so perhaps she was being truthful with him. It still puzzled him that she could be so calm, but a small part of him knew she was right about one thing: the mask did irritate his skin, and tended to rub his face raw, since he wore it so often.

He was so lost in thought that it took the feel of gentle fingers rubbing a cool ointment onto his skin to bring him back. Glancing up, Erik held still as Aria gently applied the aloe burn lotion he kept in the kitchen. Beneath her fingers' gentle ministrations, Erik could feel some of his pain fading into nothingness as he lost himself in bliss. If Heaven were on Earth, he was already there.

* * *

AN: Review please! 


	16. Love and Plans

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Yes, it sucks to have Christine and Raoul coming back and meddling in the whole scene. However, after failing to give them an appearance in my last story (as was requested by a reviewer), I decided to bring them back. Don't worry, I plan on Aria _**not**_ being nice to them, so you can all rest easy. Feel free to tell me what you think in a review! Thanks!

**Chapter 16: Love and Plans**:

I could feel Erik's eyes on me as I read my book. We were seated in the music room, and the two of us were at our usual places, me on the couch with a book, and Erik at his organ, composing his music. Right now, all was quiet; Erik was currently hovering over several pieces of already written music, not playing anything at all, and the only sound was that of water dripping somewhere. However, I knew, even without looking at him, that Erik wasn't even looking in the direction of the desk.

Deciding to humor him, I slyly looked out the corner of my eye and tried not to smile. "It's very rude to stare," I said, my mouth twitching up just a little.

I heard him chuckle just the slightest bit, and finally let a real smile pull my lips upwards. Then, to my surprise, I felt a weight on the cushion beside me, causing me to look up and almost yelp in surprise. I hadn't even heard him move from his desk! I pouted as Erik chuckled at my surprise, his hand taking mine before raising it to his lips.

'_We declared our love only a few days ago, and already he makes me feel as though no other man will do for me_,' I thought as my cheeks flushed.

In fact, ever since I had first put that ointment on Erik's ravaged cheek, he had been far more affectionate than I could ever imagine a man to be. Perhaps it was because he had been without love or a gentle touch for so long, for he often sat as close to me as he could without intruding on me. I always looked forward to his gentle hand on mine, or his kiss against my cheek or lips. However, what I looked forward to the most was our time together in the library.

The layout of the library was vastly different than it had been when I first arrived. The chairs were now pushed out of the way, and several thick blankets and rugs were now spread out on the ground before the fireplace, ready for someone to come and relax upon them. A dozen pillows were neatly stacked on top of the pillows and rugs, with the lamps strategically placed so that the reader could have light to read by. It was far cozier now, and I liked it very much…though not just for the new way it had been rearranged.

Along with the new shifting of furniture in the library came the chance to be closer to Erik. Sometimes we would curl up next to one another and open a book, though I knew he was not reading his. Not once did I ever see or hear him turn a page whenever we were in the library together. More often than not, I could feel his eyes on me as I read, though I never got far; before I could get ten pages into the story, I would feel strong arms wrap around me and pull me close to a warm chest. I would giggle, of course, and Erik would laugh before he joined me in reading the book I had chosen. We managed to finish an entire text that way, and could hardly wait to start another.

I smiled and squeezed Erik's hand as he returned mine to my possession. I watched as he stood up and returned to his place at his organ, his fingers now dancing across the ivory keys as he thought up new music. Watching Erik as he played was like seeing a dance; his body swayed back and forth in a passionate, rhythmic pattern, his head rolling, jerking, and twisting as the notes he played came to life around him. I could not help but become disappointed whenever he stopped in the middle of his performance to write the notes down, or when he paused to think something over.

As though sensing my eyes on him, Erik turned around, his fingers still gliding and dancing over the ivory pieces as he continued to play. A green eye gazing out from semi-twisted flesh, sparkling in the candlelight around us, and my breath caught as he smirked at me. It was as though he knew I loved watching him, and that he liked being watched by me. I couldn't help but smile and blush a little as he grinned and turned away so that I could return to my book.

Even though my eyes were resting on the pages of the text, my mind was elsewhere. I couldn't help thinking about Erik's face and how it had made him so tormented and miserable. For me, it was not that terrible to look at; it was red, puffy, and the skin appeared to be peeling off in pieces, but really, it wasn't that revolting to look at. Even the swollen flesh around the right eye didn't faze me.

When I had first seen his face, I had first thought to use the burn ointment that Erik had stored in his kitchen. Not long after I had begun cooking for him, Erik had realized that I might burn myself while making supper, and so he had shown me the ointment he often used whenever he had injured himself while in the kitchen. That same medicine was now applied to Erik's right cheek twice a day by my own hand, and it was already doing wonders.

'_The redness has certainly gone down_,' I thought with a smile. '_And his skin isn't peeling as badly as it once had. At least we now know that it was the mask that was making it worse than it appeared_.'

Although his face was still a bit twisted and bumpy in a few places, and the modest swell he had underneath his right eye was permanent, it was still a nice improvement. Erik had added soft linings of velvet or silk to his masks, and now they were all cool and comfortable to wear, though he did not wear this mask a great deal anymore. Since the sight of his face did not bother me, we both agreed that it would be best for him to do without them.

Sighing, I leaned back on the couch and lost myself in Erik's music and the written words of my book. All too soon it would be bedtime, and I wanted to savor every wondrous moment here that I could.

* * *

With Aria so close by, Erik felt as though all of his senses were heightened to some animalistic level. He could hear her every movement, every single swish of her skirt or small cough she made, he could hear it as surely as if she sat right beside him. He could still smell the spices she used in the kitchen, the aromas of spicy pepper, fresh rosemary, and the exotic smell of the curry she had used on the roast all blended together in an intoxicating scent that was threatening to drive him mad. Good God, he could even hear her breathing through the music he was playing! 

Never before in his life had he felt this way, and it was as though he were seeing, smelling, hearing, and experiencing everything around him for the very first time. With every touch, every kiss, every smile that Aria bestowed upon him, Erik could feel something inside of him spark with warmth and bliss. Was this what love was like? Would he feel this way from now on, whenever Aria was nearby or when she called his name? He had never felt this way about anyone before, not even Christine. Erik bit back a snort of contempt, both for himself and for the young woman he had foolishly called an angel.

Angelic she had appeared, but in truth, Christine had been a fragile, naïve child in a woman's body. Erik knew now that, even if he had somehow managed to keep her with him, he could never, from that day forward, act towards her with anger or exasperation, even if he wanted to. Christine had always had difficulty understanding why someone was upset with her, and with Erik's temper and patience always on short supply, Christine's spirit would have broken within days. The poor young thing would probably never mature enough to understand _why_ she had made him angry, and would likely have drowned herself in tears before he would know how to stop them.

Also, Erik knew that Christine was in possession of a pure spirit that could never thrive in darkness, and that he had been the wrong suitor for her. The Count de Chagny was a good, kind man, even if he was a fop, and Raoul had the patience and the love it would take to coax Christine towards becoming a true adult woman. Hopefully it would be _before_ they had children to raise…

Smiling, Erik looked up at the clock he had set into the wood of the organ and sighed. It was getting late, and was time to sleep. Aria was not the sort to stay up late, and would be departing for her room soon. He would miss her presence, but the knowledge that she was only one hundred feet away comforted him. He would retire later, once the music within his mind was fully played, and those note were sure to help Aria fall into sleep and dreams.

From behind him, Erik listened as Aria yawned, closed her book, set it aside, and rose from the couch. The soft padding of her footsteps arrived at his right arm, and he turned his ravaged cheek towards her, knowing that it didn't bother her. It still amazed him that she could look at him without disgust, and that made him love her even more. Here stood a real angel who did not judge him for his appearance, and instead accepted him, just like any divine being would.

Still playing, Erik smiled up at her, a smile that was quickly and genuinely returned. "Goodnight, Erik," Aria said as she bent down, pressing her lips to the middle of his forehead.

He merely nodded and continued to play as she walked towards her room. He was not angry that she had not kissed the damaged skin, nor did she have reason to suspect that he was angry at her for her course of action. The aloe-infused ointment that he used twice daily had been applied less than an hour ago, and it would not be good for Aria if she were to ingest it somehow by kissing him. She knew this, and therefore never kissed him on the treated skin. Instead, she pressed gentle kisses on the left side of his face or on his forehead after the ointment had been applied.

Finishing his song with a dramatic flourish, Erik cocked his head to the side and listened. No movement could be heard coming through the red velvet curtain that served Aria as a door, so he knew she was asleep. She would not wake until an hour or so after dawn, and by then he had plans to be gone. It had been a few days since his last visit up to the Populaire, and it was always a good idea to keep everyone on their toes, especially when it came to a new production.

Chuckling, Erik cracked his knuckles and began a new piece, one that was a bit softer so that Aria would fall into a more blissful sleep.

* * *

Early in the morning, inside the managers' offices, Monsieur Craven was serving drinks and food to his guests. The Count de Chagny and his wife happily accepted the offered tea, and the three sat back in their chairs to think about what could be done to save the young woman imprisoned deep beneath the Opera House. 

"We could take a mass of armed men down there," Raoul suggested as he reached for a small pastry full of fruit and coated in frosting. "The Ghost would be no match for so many, if we were to swarm him from all around."

"No," Roland declared in a firm voice. "No, I won't involve anyone armed in this matter. There is the chance that Aria might get caught in the gunfight, and I couldn't bear to lose her in that way."

"Monsieur Craven is right, Raoul," Christine gently told her husband. "It would be horribly ironic to try and rescue Mademoiselle Aria, only to lose her to a stray bullet."

Raoul sighed and shook his head. "Are you certain that Madame Giry will not get involved?" he asked. "It was she who led me down to the cellars and pointed me in the right direction, when I went to save Christine. Could she not be persuaded to join us in this matter?"

A sigh also left Roland's lips. "No, I'm afraid not," he replied. Anyone with ears could hear the disappointment in his voice as he spoke. "I have tried everything to enlist Madame Giry, including bribery, but all I receive is a refusal."

"Then the Phantom must have threatened Meg," Christine softly said, her eyes turned down towards her cup as though talking to herself. "She would not refuse, otherwise."

"There is also the chance that she _will not_ help, as it concerns a young woman she does not really know." Raoul turned to look at his wife. "Madame helped me because you have always been like a daughter to her ever since she brought you to the Populaire after your father died. She raised you, taught you to dance alongside her own birth-child, and supported you. She loves you."

Christine nodded. "For many years, it was just the three of us living together in Madame's rooms," she said. "Madame would never let any harm come to those she loves, but since she does not love or know Aria, she is not willing to risk her life in order to help us."

For a moment, there was silence. Inside, Roland Craven feared for his child, the only one left to him after his wife left him for America. Since the sad day he kissed his son goodbye for the last time, Roland had always been frightened of losing his daughter. He had lost one child, and to lose another would surely kill him. He had always cherished his daughter, and had given her everything he thought she would need to live a privileged life, even if it was alone as an unmarried old maid. With a good education, a loving family, and enough wealth to provide a good dowry for a marriage or a home of her own, Aria had everything she could possibly need in life.

'_And now she's gone_,' Roland thought, his heart twisting within his chest. '_My precious child_…'

Meanwhile, the Count and Countess were lost in their own thoughts, though it all revolved around the being that had caused so much pain and suffering in their lives. Their encounter with the Phantom had left them emotionally and mentally scarred, though the pain was fading with time. The love they had for one another was like a sweet, soothing balm to their hearts, and so Christine and Raoul basked in that love every moment they had together. Society thought them overly affectionate, but since no one else had had their beloved threatened by a madman, their shortsightedness could easily be forgiven.

For several moments, the three conspirators each struggled with their own thoughts and emotions on the situation, all lost within the fear that now gripped their minds and hearts. All of them had their own pain and suffering to struggle with, and not one was less than other. In the end, though, there was still the matter of how to rescue Aria Craven from her cold, hellish prison.

* * *

It had been quite early in the morning when he had left the house on the lake, but Erik had been sure to get some rest the night before. Normally he slept quite late, but Erik wanted to be sure that everything was in order for the newest performance currently being pieced together. _**Carmen**_ was a rather strange choice, but he was very much pleased with it, as it had been some time since it had last been performed at the Populaire. 

'_Actually, the last time __**Carmen**__ had been performed was when Carlotta had first arrived here_,' Erik reminisced to himself. '_Once the audience had heard her sing in her native Spanish, they thought she was the greatest thing to happen to the Populaire_.' He winced. How wrong they had been.

Knowing that the managers' office was the best place to get started, Erik silently slipped through the hidden passages, occasionally peeking out to see who was on the other side or seeing what was going on. Mostly it was workers on their way to their jobs, so he quickly pushed all his concern about that aside, his mind focused on what might possibly be going on inside the main offices.

When he reached the wall that looked into the main seating area, Erik stopped and pulled out the little knot of wood so that he could better hear what was being said. Curiously enough, he heard two males and one female voice inside the room, and all of them were eerily familiar. Looking through the knothole in the wall, Erik nearly cried out in surprise and horror.

'_What the hell are that Fop and Christine doing here_?' he thought, furious at the sight.

Had they come to taunt him with their happiness and their marriage? Or perhaps they were here for another, far more twisted reason than that. What that other reason might be, he didn't know, but he was certainly not going to let them accomplish it!

"Well, if we aren't going to send any law enforcement or armed men down there, then perhaps I should go down there myself," the Count was saying. "I partially remember the way, and perhaps I would be able to get Mademoiselle Craven back without difficulty."

"Oh, Raoul, no!" cried a heavenly voice that sent stabs of pain throughout Erik's very being. "If you are going down there, then so am I!" There were tears in Christine's eyes as she spoke. "If you were to go down there and not come back…I could not bear to lose you!"

"I am afraid that I don't like the idea, either, Monsieur," stated Monsieur Craven. "If you were to be killed, tour blood would be on my hands, as well as Aria's, and I cannot allow it. Aria would be heartbroken if she were to learn that a rescue attempt meant to save her cost a man his life."

Fuming, Erik put the knot back into place and turned to head back home. They were going to take Aria away from him! It was unfair that there was a force trying to deny him of happiness. Just when he had found a woman who loved him in spite of his face and in spite of everything that he had done, the Fop and his Countess had appeared to try and take it all away from him. He could not allow that to happen…he wouldn't let that happen.

'_Aria is mine_,' he thought to himself with a snarl. '_She is mine_! _I will be dead before I let that fool or any other man take her away from me_!'

Fortune had smiled upon him the night that he had brought Aria down here, and he had savored every moment he had shared with her. She was his companion, the one who took care of him when so many others had spit or thrown stones at his head. Aria had cooked for him, talked with him, and even laughed with him whenever he managed to gather the courage to tease her about something. She even allowed him to snuggle close to her as she read; never before had he enjoyed reading so much as he did with Aria. How could he possibly let someone come and take that away from him now?

But he would have to keep this matter of Christine and Raoul to himself. Aria knew about _**Don Juan**_, and might fear that he would return to Christine when that idea was the furthest from his mind. Worse, she might just try to be noble and attempt to return to the surface in order to spare his life in the event someone came for her. No, this would have to kept secret from her, if only for her own good. He would think of something…after all, he _was_ a genius.

* * *

AN: Review! 


	17. Good Intentions

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: More of the Fop and the Twit (a.k.a.: Christine) in this chapter. I know that people hate me for putting them in the storyline, but that's the way my muse wants it, so there you go. Please review and tell me how you like/dislike it. Thanks!

**Chapter 17: Good Intentions:**

Rolling over underneath the red velvet sheets, I sighed and opened my eyes. Upon seeing the bouquet of red and white roses on the table next to me, I couldn't help but smile. In the week that had passed since our confession of love, Erik now knew that roses were my favorite flower, and he often went out of his way to procure them for me. The moment they began to wilt, the roses would disappear overnight and I would awake to new, fresh blossoms, the scent of the flowers filling the air.

Because of Erik's desire to surprise me this way, I never lowered the curtain on the bed anymore. I liked to wake up and find something beautiful or thoughtful waiting for me when I woke. One morning, I had opened my eyes to see a new shawl draped over a chair, the lovely white silk trimmed with gold embroidery and little gold tassels. I loved it so much that I wore it everywhere except the kitchen, for fear of getting it dirty. Erik, I knew, enjoyed seeing me wear it, as he always smiled whenever he saw it wrapped around my shoulders or arms.

Yawning a bit, I sat up and stretched, my eyes drifting back towards the flowers. To my surprise, there was a small wooden box laying next to it, a white card perched on top of it. Curious, I reached out and picked up the card. It had my name written on it, and since it was on the box, I deduced that the box was for me. Picking up the container and putting it on my lap, I slowly opened it and gasped.

Inside the box lay a glittering red glass bottle, a painted gold rose cut into the front and back of it. The bottle was circular, but flat, and the stopper was of a clear glass rosebud edged in gold. As I removed the little bottle, I saw something liquid was inside, and couldn't help the excitement that swelled within my heart. I quickly removed the stopper and took a small sniff.

'_Roses_!' I thought with joy. '_Rose perfume_! _Oh, this had to be so expensive_!'

I would wear it, of course, as Erik no doubt expected me to. Besides, why should I save it for special use when I knew that wearing it would make Erik happy? So, grinning broadly, I slowly tipped the bottle over a little, and a small drop of the perfume fell onto my wrist. Quickly replacing the stopper, I proceeded to rub the scent into my skin with the other wrist, then pressed my wrists to my neck, transferring some of the scent to the other part of my body.

Biting back a giggle, I put the perfume back on the bedside table by the vase and threw the covers off of me. In moments, I was dressed and heading for the kitchen, eager for some breakfast. It was still early, and Erik wouldn't likely be awake yet, so I had the cavern to myself. As I passed by the organ, I couldn't hold back the smile that tugged at my lips.

'_He's so messy_.' I chuckled and went over to the desk to straighten out his papers.

Earlier in my stay, I never touched anything on the organ, but since Erik always got frustrated with his own messes, I had developed the habit of tidying up his work each morning and organizing his music. He never seemed angry after I did, but was rather grateful for the help, so I continued to do it every day. When he saw the neat pile of papers, he always thanked me with a smile of gratitude, saying that it saved him from losing his work and his mind.

My work done in the music room, I went into the kitchen to prepare myself some tea and toast. Normally I would have eggs, bacon, or sausage, but today I felt like something sweet, so I fetched a few jars of preserves, choosing three of my favorite flavors: strawberry, cherry, and orange. Oh, how I loved a good cup of tea and toast for breakfast! And best of all, both the tea and the toast were done at relatively the same time, so no time was spent rushing about making sure things were set.

Ten minutes later, I was seated at the table, lifting a slice of toast with cherry preserves from the plate when something pressed against my neck and inhaled. I squeaked in surprise, but didn't drop my toast as the intruder laughed into my hair. Knowing who it was, I huffed in annoyance, but didn't turn around. Instead, I put the toast to my lips and took a healthy bite out of it.

"Ah, you are upset with my interrupting your meal," Erik whispered into my ear. "You smell lovely."

I tried to chew my food and ignore him, but he wouldn't have it. Instead, I felt his nose glide up and down my neck, sniffing occasionally as his hands found their way to my shoulders. I nearly choked as Erik proceeded to nuzzle the place behind my right ear, the warmth of his skin mixing with that of my own. I shivered, my eyes closing as I swallowed my mouthful of toast.

"Do you like my gift, sweet Aria?" His voice was so soft and seductive, it sent another shiver down my spine. "The smell of roses that mingles so sweetly with your own delicious scent?"

"Yes." My answer was so quiet, I didn't think he had heard me.

"Good," Erik replied as his lips pressed against the tender skin of my neck, giving me a kiss like that of a butterfly's wing.

As I tried to compose myself, Erik moved to sit beside me, a smug grin on his lips as he reached over and took a piece of toast from my plate, his fingers reaching for the jar of strawberry preserves. I went back to eating my own meal as Erik proceeded to smother the bread with the red-pink fruit spread, his hands slowly and meticulously covering the entire slice with it. Goodness, how I loved those hands!

'_Not that he's done anything inappropriate to me with those hands, of course_,' I thought with a touch of disappointment.

No, Erik would never do such a thing, but we both felt it acceptable to touch one another without going too far. At first, he had wanted to wear gloves, believing that, as a man so much larger than I was, he might harm me without meaning to. But after feeling a soft kiss to his unmarked cheek and my own hands on his face, Erik wanted to be able to touch mine without a barrier between us. He had relented, and proceeded to put his bare hands on my waiting face.

That first time, three nights ago, I discovered the joy of Erik's skin on mine. His hands, roughened by working so hard on his art and at his organ, were slightly callused, but not too noticeably. I had closed my eyes as his fingertips brushed my forehead, eyebrows, temples, cheeks, and lips, almost as though he were memorizing every inch of my features. I swore I could sense his eyes on me as his thumbs stroked every inch of my face. His touch was so soft and gentle that I sighed and leaned further into his caresses, my own hands moving up to graze his. The two of us gasped in pleasure and bliss before stopping, fearing that we might go further than we wanted.

After that night, we held hands whenever we sat together and talked, the two of us laying together on the blankets and pillows before the fireplace in the library. Sometimes we would sit at the dinner table and hover over coffee and vanilla cookies, chatting over the development of the production of _**Carmen**_ or whatever came to mind. Occasionally, one of us would make a joke, and after the laughter had calmed down, we would find ourselves in a soft, but loving kiss that would leave us breathless. If this was what love is supposed to be, then the two of us were lost in it.

As I swallowed the last bit of my first toast slice, I silently reminded myself that, for now, nothing more than touches and kisses could happen between us, no matter how much I wished otherwise. It wouldn't be proper, and I firmly believed in marriage before physical intimacy, though I didn't know what Erik thought about the whole thing. Still, he wanted to make me happy, so there was the chance that he would wait until after we were married to go any further.

'_But what if he doesn't want to marry you_?' a voice asked me in the back of my head.

Looking over at the wonderful man sitting next to me, I saw the tender look in his eyes as he studied me, and I knew that he wanted more than just gentle touches and passionate kisses. That is what my heart told me, and I had every reason to believe it.

* * *

'_I am going to marry this woman_,' Erik thought to himself as Aria looked at him and smiled. '_I will marry this woman if it's the last thing I do_.' 

Since the night that Aria had put that aloe lotion on his face, he'd had the insatiable urge to touch and kiss her whenever he could. Like today, when he had come up behind her and pressed his nose to her neck, Erik had felt his heart soar at the light, but seductive scent of roses on Aria's neck. He had purchased the perfume the same day she had revealed her love for the flower, but had waited until the specially made glass bottle had been completed before presenting it to her. The fact that she wore the scent now told of her love of the gift, and the grateful look that sparkled in her deep brown eyes thrilled him to no end.

'_I will marry you, Aria Craven_,' he silently thought to her as she proceeded to eat another slice of toast. '_Despite whatever rescue attempt your foolish father and the de Chagnys may try and carry out, I __**will**__ marry you_.'

Smiling at her, Erik finished his slice of toast and left for his room. He had errands to run, and time waited for no one…not even a Ghost.

* * *

Exiting the carriage, Raoul quickly scanned the area before reaching his hand towards his wife. Since this whole mess with the Ghost began anew, he had been extremely fearful for Christine's wellbeing. Even though they were firmly wed, Raoul couldn't help but think that if he turned his back for one minute, his wife would be snatched away. The shadows all seemed to have eyes and grasping claws, and the more time that passed, the more worried he became. 

"Raoul," whispered a soft, musical voice. The Count turned to look into the wide brown eyes of his wife. "Raoul, he cannot take me away from you when we are in such a public place. He cannot enter the hotel we stay in, for fear of getting caught or being seen."

"But he _does_ still have power over the Opera House," Raoul replied, his voice tense. "He could come out of a wall and then-"

A slender, gloved hand pressed against his cheek as Christine pressed a kiss to his lips. "He could do all of that, and yet, I know that you would come down and save me," she said with a sweet smile. "I know that you would do everything in your power to get me back, and if I know such a thing, then the Phantom must as well."

A sigh escaped Raoul's mouth as he reluctantly surrendered to Christine's comforting words and caress. "You are right," he said, his hand reaching up to take hers and press it to his heart. "I would do everything possible to save you from him."

Christine smiled as she began leading him up the steps and into the Opera House. "Of course you would." Her voice was soft as they proceeded to go up the steps towards the entrance of the Populaire. "But for now, we must concentrate on the task at hand, and that is rescuing Aria Craven."

Raoul nodded and followed behind, his eyes darting to a fro, looking at every shadowy doorway and dark hallway they passed, checking to be sure that nothing sinister lurked there. He didn't relax until they were safely in the office of Monsieur Craven, the door shut firmly behind them. Even if the Phantom had a way into the office, Raoul felt certain that he could manage a way to help Christine escape the room to safety, if need be.

As a glass of brandy was pressed into his hands, Raoul allowed himself to relax just the tiniest bit. Beside him, Christine happily sipped a cup of tea as she settled down into the couch she shared with her husband. Across from them was Monsieur Craven, a glass of brandy in his hand as he sat in a red velvet chair. The three of them quietly enjoyed their refreshments for several moments until Monsieur Craven broke the silence.

"I'm afraid that I have not thought of any way to save my daughter," Monsieur Craven announced. "We all know that the police will not involve themselves, and without armed men, I dare not let one single person down there. Who knows what that monster has waiting for uninvited intruders?"

Raoul shivered, remember his own horrifying experience. During bad thunderstorms, he often dreamed of water and iron cages holding him down as he tried to swim for the surface, the darkness surrounding him as he tried to find out which way was up. Christine knew of his nightmares, just as he knew about hers. Occasionally, she would wake up gasping, almost as though she had been running away from something terrible. Even now, the presence of the Ghost couldn't leave them be.

"There will be traps, no doubt," Raoul said, pushing aside his fears so that he could help the poor man sitting before him. "Only two people know where those traps are, and one of them is the Ghost. The other would be Madame Giry."

Christine shook her head. "I do not think that Madame would know where all of the Phantom's traps are laid, Raoul," she said. "Remember, you told me that she would only lead you so far into the tunnels, and that you had to go the rest of the way alone."

"True enough, but she knew about that twirling mirror room I dropped into on the night of the Masquerade," Raoul reminded her. "If she already knew about that one, then how many others does she know exist and where they are?"

"Or how many she is willing to tell us about," Monsieur Craven muttered, his voice deep as he lost himself in thought. "Perhaps she would be willing to direct someone through the passages that hold the least amount of traps?"

Raoul could feel one of his eyebrows quirk. "That is an interesting idea," he murmured. "Perhaps she would be willing to draw me a map of some sort, instead of having to actually lead me there?"

"Draw _you_ a map?" Christine gasped. "Oh, Raoul, you're not seriously thinking of going down there alone, are you?"

"I must, my love, if I am to help save this girl," he gently replied. "I have been training a great deal, and am more skilled at defending myself with both my hands and a weapon." He took Christine's hand in his. "I have long feared another encounter with him, and so I have prepared for the worst. If I go down there, alone and fully armed, I believe that I can defeat the Phantom and bring Aria back safely to her father."

Christine shook her head. "Then let me go with you," she pleaded. "If you do end up fighting him, I can sneak Aria away while you distract him! It would not be hard to do so, since she must be eager to leave that awful place by now!"

Raoul and Monsieur Craven exchanged looks that obviously said they did not like the idea. However, if Raoul could prove as a violent and effective distraction, then it was possible that Christine could, in fact, get Aria out of the caves while Raoul fought the Ghost. The plan had its potential, and could actually work.

"Very well," Raoul said reluctantly. "But we will need time to prepare for this. It will not be long, since we do not know how much torment Mademoiselle Craven has been exposed to during this time. We will prepare ourselves and let you know as soon as we are ready."

After an hour of polite conversation, the de Chagnys left, taking with them the hope that they would be able to carry out the plan they had just conceived.

* * *

Watching the young couple leave, Roland felt his shoulders slump. It had been wrong of him to involve them, he knew that now. The topic of the Opera Ghost was something that should have been left in the past for them, and then he had to go and throw the whole matter right into their faces. 

'_But they are the only ones who can help me_,' Roland reminded himself as he went to pour himself another drink. '_They are the only ones who actually faced the Ghost and lived to tell the tale, except for Madame Giry_.'

The ballet mistress had been of no help, despite all of the money that Roland had offered her in exchange for that aid. She had even refused the job positions that he had offered both her and her daughter in either his home or in the Populaire! The woman simply _refused_ to get involved, though he had no idea why.

'_Perhaps the Ghost really did threaten to do something horrible to little Meg Giry_,' Roland thought as he sipped his brandy.

If that was the case, he could understand why the formidable dance instructor had acted the way she did to his offers. To any true parent, all of the money in the world could not replace a dead or missing child, as well he knew. Still, he desperately wished that she would help him. He would much rather have Madame Giry's help than the Count and Countess'!

'_But I will do whatever it takes to get my daughter back,_' he thought as he clutched his glass. '_I will have my daughter home, and no man in a mask is going to stop that from happening_! _Once she's home safely, I'll send in a mass of armed men to arrest or destroy the monster that had taken her_!'

Aria would not forgive him for having a man killed, even if he had been her captor, but Roland didn't care. It would be worth it, if only for the peace of mind of having his daughter home again.

* * *

AN: Review, please! Thanks! 


	18. What Might Be and What Might Have Been

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Okay, I've decided to add a character from the _**Phantom of the Opera**_ book into the mix. Truthfully, I kind of like Nadir Khan, and he makes a good sidekick/helper to Erik. No insult to Madame Giry, but I think Erik deserves to have more than one friend. Also, I'm adjusting it so that the movie and book crossover and fit each other. Hope you like it and will review! Thanks!

**Chapter 18: What Might Be and What Might Have Been:**

Going out into the city was dangerous for even the most common man. There were thieves, murderers, and criminals of all sorts lurking in alleys, but people still went out, no matter the perils. For Erik, however, going out into the world of light was far more treacherous. With a mask on his face, people would easily know him as a deformed monster, or even as the Phantom himself. Even with a cloak over his head to hide his features, there was the chance he would be recognized.

Fortunately, today was a cloudy, somewhat drizzly day, so a cloaked and hooded figure would not stand out on the busy Paris streets. Graceful and silent, Erik made he way to his destination, namely the house of Nadir Khan.

* * *

Nadir was a former policeman from the land of Persia, and had encountered the deformed child known as The Devil's Child while the gypsy caravan had been traveling throughout the world. When he had first seen the horrors and torment that the boy suffered through, Nadir had felt pity for the poor child, and had wanted to free him by purchasing him. To Nadir's disappointment, the caravan leader had refused, claiming that Erik was worth more than what the Persian could possibly offer him. The caravan left the next morning, but not without the Persian attempting to follow them, hoping desperately to free the poor imprisoned boy in the cage. 

However, despite his best efforts to keep up with them, Nadir, as well as his faithful manservant Darius, found himself without the funds or means to keep up with the gypsies. Although the gypsies traveled with all they owned in their carts and on their backs, it was because of this lack of ties to possessions and land that the gypsies could travel great distances without much pause. Those in a gypsy circus also didn't have many family or friends besides the ones they traveled with, and a circus _always_ pulled in money whenever they stopped, so there were no financial worries, either.

Nadir was not to fortunate. He didn't have the ability to bring in money at the drop of a hat, and after arriving in Italy, his money had run out. Forced to take a permanent security guard position at a wealthy Italian merchant's shop, Nadir had to work for _years_ to save up enough to try and locate where the poor boy known as The Devil's Child might be. Over twenty years later, when a customer from Paris mentioned the horrific events of the Opera Populaire, as well as the twisted, deformed man who had destroyed the building and killed several patrons, Nadir knew where he had to go.

Bidding his employer a heartfelt farewell, Nadir had immediately left Italy and purchased a home in Paris, one that was less than five blocks away from the ruins of the Opera House. Darius, of course, followed, and the two set out to discover what had happened to the boy they had been trying to save.

However, the search was not an easy one. Since he was a foreigner, many people proved to either be eager to answer his questions, or hesitant. The gossips, of course, told Nadir and Darius much more than they asked about, but by then, the tales had all been twisted around so that Nadir didn't know what was true and what was made up. However, one lead he had came from a newspaper reporter, a young man who claimed that the former ballet mistress and her daughter might be able to help. As a man, Nadir had foolishly thought that all women liked to gossip like chickens; he had not counted on the ballet mistress to keep her mouth so tightly shut that he could not even get past the front step. After having the door slammed in his face for the third time, Nadir gave up and decided to try and corner the pretty little thing known as Meg Giry, daughter of the ballet mistress.

From the blonde wisp-of-a-girl, Nadir discovered that Madame Giry had been the connection between the Opera Ghost and the managers. She had delivered his notes, collected his money, kept Box 5 open for his use, and frequently voiced that his commands were to be followed to avoid mishaps. Meg had also said that it was because of the Ghost's anger and madness that the Opera House had burned down, as well as his unreturned love for a certain dancer-turned-singer named Christine Daae.

Upon hearing this, Nadir had grown worried about how the innocent boy had grown into such a monster. Desperate to try and save the man from himself, Nadir had tried to seek out the so-called Phantom. Then, an idea had struck the moment he'd heard that someone was going to try and rebuild the Populaire: if the Opera House had been the Phantom's kingdom, one which he had destroyed, it would certainly make sense if he still lived there and wanted to rebuild what had been his. And if the Phantom still dwelled at the Opera House, then he should be easy to find.

Using a few well-placed bribes, Nadir managed to get into the good graces of the architect designing the new Populaire, and discovered a set of redrawn plans. These new plans had been far different and more elegantly done than the originals, and Nadir was quick to ask questions. The answers involved a set of blueprints lost in the burned ruins of the Populaire, and the delivery of the remade prints to the office by a woman called Madame Giry.

Excited, Nadir had returned to the Giry home and once again cornered little Meg. After using his best interrogating skills, Meg finally gave him a rough set of directions to the Phantom's underground home, describing a pathway that she had used after _**Don Juan**_. It was in those caves that Nadir encountered a very angry Erik, and almost lost his life at the end of a Punjab rope. When Erik managed to recognize who it was and remember the kindness shown to him by the Persian all those years ago, he released the rope from the older man's neck. Erik then forced a promise from the Persian, ordering that the man never, if he valued his life, cross into the caves again. Nadir quickly gave his word, and once the matter was cleared up, Nadir invited Erik to his home for tea.

After that, a strange and uneasy friendship was born.

* * *

Ever since that encounter with the Persian in the caves, Erik had done his best not to be too involved in becoming friends with Nadir. It wasn't that he was afraid of the older man, as Nadir was hardly a threat to someone of Erik's height and strength. No, Erik was hesitant to become friends because he had never had one in his entire life. Still, Nadir was kind to him as no other man had been, so Erik tried to spend one day a week or a month with the foreigner. Since Aria had arrived, though, those visits had ceased, and no doubt Nadir would want an explanation. 

Making sure his hood covered his eyes, Erik knocked on the door. Darius answered and bowed him in, shutting the door before escorting him to the parlor. A tug on Erik's shoulders, and his cloak was in Darius' hands before Erik could blink twice. Nadir was already there, a tea tray and a meal tray lying on the table before him. Taking a deep breath, Erik entered the room and took a seat, accepting one of the cups being offered to him and taking a drink.

For a while, the two men sat, ate, and drank until the food was gone and all that remained was to chat over a warm fire. Erik knew that Nadir could sense something needed to be discussed, and so he decided to speak before the Persian could begin a police interrogation of him.

"Nadir," Erik whispered, his eyes never leaving the dancing flames of the fire. "Nadir, I need you to procure something for me before tomorrow night."

The Persian started in his seat, surprised at the request. "You want _me_ to procure something for you?" he asked in disbelief. "Isn't Madame Giry the one who usually makes your purchases?"

Biting back an angry retort and an impatient sigh, Erik turned his green eyes towards his only male friend. "This is something I know would alarm Madame and cause her great worry," he ground out. "I need _you_ to do this, or else I will have to do this myself."

Nadir sighed and nodded. "What do you need me to get?"

Setting down his glass with one hand, Erik reached into his vest pocket with the other. "I need you to get this, in exactly the size I have written down," Erik said, pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to the older gentleman.

The Persian accepted the paper and opened it. Upon reading it, he nearly dropped it in shock. For a moment, his dark brown eyes glanced from the paper towards his guest, then back to the paper. The motions were repeated until Erik reached over and gently thumped the older man on the forehead with his forefinger. Nadir jerked back in his chair and glared at his masked friend before shaking his head.

"Erik," he said in an accusing tone of voice. "This is an engagement ring."

"Yes, Nadir, I am aware of that," Erik replied in a dry tone. "Will you please purchase it for me? I will pick it up tomorrow afternoon, since I have much to do before tomorrow night."

"Who is this ring for, Erik?" the Persian demanded. "I know that Christine is in town, and if you think to win her over this time, I swear I will tie you down and knock some sense into you!"

Erik stared at his friend for a moment before bursting into laughter. It was several minutes before he managed to calm down, and when he did, he could not find himself angry at the assumptions that the other man had jumped to. "Oh, Nadir," Erik said, still chuckling. "I am not doing this for that foolish child known as Christine. This is for another woman, someone whom I love and who loves me in return, despite my horrid face and all of the terrible things I have done."

An eyebrow on Nadir's face raised in skepticism. "Erik," he said in a soft voice. "You have not…_forced_ this girl into anything, have you? Not like with Christine all those years ago."

The soft smile that spread across Erik's face surprised him. "No, Nadir, I did not," he said, though he only told half of the truth. If Nadir didn't know about Aria's kidnapping, all the better. "She has seen who I am and loves me. And I intend to make her my wife."

To his surprise, Nadir put the paper into his pocket and threw himself across the table to wrap Erik in a congratulatory hug. "Oh, I am so glad for you!" he cried, pounding Erik enthusiastically on the back. "You deserve this, dear boy! For all of the hardships you have encountered and endured, you deserve this happiness!"

Erik merely gave him an awkward pat on the back and waited for the other man to be seated. "I have it all planned out, Nadir," Erik said, a small smile on his lips. "I will spare no expense in this matter. I want the finest diamond ring you can procure." Erik removed a wallet from his pocket and tossed it at the man. "Spend everything in it, if you have to."

'_And by the time tomorrow night is over, Aria will be mine_.'

* * *

Erik was gone, and he seemed in a rather dark mood when he had left this morning. Yesterday, after doing his rounds at the Opera House, he seemed rather upset about something, and refused to tell me what it was. I silently guessed that it must have been something to do with the production of _**Carmen**_ and left it at that, since that's all there was that could make Erik so angry. Instead of bothering him about it, I merely left it alone and let him pound his emotions out on his organ while I prepared dinner. 

Last night's meal had been slightly strained, though Erik did his best to be polite and gentle with me. I let him know that it was alright to be angry, and that if he wanted to talk about it, I was here to listen. He nodded and said that he knew that, but that it was something he alone had to deal with. I could tell that he did not want me to worry, so I kept quiet and put the matter into the back of my mind. If he wanted to say something and ask for my help, he would do so.

Instead on dwelling on darker matters, I let myself think about how wonderful it was to be in love. Every time I was in Erik's presence, I felt so warm and happy, as though a pair of arms were around me all the time, hugging me and making me feel safe. Sometimes I felt as if I were in a fog of bliss, often having to pinch myself to come back to reality in order to prepare dinner or think sensibly. Often, I would giggle foolishly to myself whenever I looked at the roses or the gifts that Erik had brought me, my thoughts drifting towards the fond smile he would sometimes have on his face.

Sitting in the music room, the scent of my rose perfume tickling my nose, I couldn't keep myself from smiling. Erik was so thoughtful with his gifts, and I was always sure to let him know my thanks with a kiss or a swift hug. From the look in his eyes, I knew that he cherished each kiss and caress I gave him; at times, it seemed as though he were engraving them into his memory, just so he would never forget what it was like to have me love him.

However, what troubled me was that I couldn't stop thinking about _how_ I had managed to get Erik to fall in love with me. Papa had always claimed that I was a softhearted girl, one who had such a sweet nature that any man with sense would want me as his wife. Whenever he said that, I smiled indulgently at him, knowing for a fact that if that were true, then most of the men in the world were probably stupid or blind.

'_So how did I manage to become your love, Erik_?' I silently asked the absent man.

Well, that didn't matter; what truly mattered was that we were both happy at having found love with one another. Erik deserved to be loved, and to experience so much more than that. As for me, I had finally found a man who treated me tenderly and equally, something not many men would do for the woman they loved.

'_But what would it be like to be married to him_?' my mind asked as my imagination exploded with possibilities.

I could imagine the two of us living here by the underground lake, our lives peaceful and quiet here in the darkness surrounding us, held back by hundreds of candles. Erik would play his glorious, passionate and emotional music every day, and I would either sit with him in the music room or in the library, savoring every note being played. Perhaps we would read a book together, wrapped in each other's arms during the day, and at night…

Blushing furiously, I pushed that image aside. Besides, it wasn't proper for a woman to think such inappropriate thoughts, no matter how much I wanted to fantasize about it. Was Erik experienced in that area? I didn't think he would be, but I'd heard that lovemaking was a sort of art form, and since art came so easily to Erik, perhaps he would be as much a natural in that area as he was in sculpture, paints, and music. If he was, then the person who would be his wife would likely be a lucky one.

But for now, I dared not get my hopes and my dreams up, for fear of them not coming true. If Erik wanted to marry me, then he would ask me, properly and with love and honesty in his eyes. If not…well, let me just hope that I was strong enough to bear the heartbreak.

* * *

On the desk beside her, Christine heard the clock chime the hour. Raoul was out for the evening, meeting with a few friends, so the young Countess found herself alone for the evening. Sighing, she turned her attention back out the window, looking out into the darkness. It was a drizzly night, and people rushed past the hotel under umbrellas, hooded cloaks, or wide-brimmed hats. The sight of people running around like panicked ants made her smile, though it did not last very long. 

Tonight, Christine found herself lost in thoughts she had not considered in a long time, thoughts that involved terrifying darkness and voices that echoed inside her mind. After the incident at the Opera House, she had done her best to banish those memories and ideas from her mind and her heart, and after a year had past, she had succeeded. However, with the disappearance of Mademoiselle Craven, the darkness and her fear of the past had returned. What must the poor young woman be going through? Was she afraid for her life, just as Christine had been during her abduction? Did Aria fear for her father and her uncle if they should do something to displease the Ghost?

As always, the mere thought of the Phantom sent shivers of ice-cold fear through Christine's body. She could almost feel the darkness of the Phantom's cave pressing down upon her, though it hadn't always been that way. Before, when she had first been brought to his home, she had thought it beautiful and enchanting, like a dream. The Phantom's voice had been so deep and majestic, encouraging her and praising her voice and her performance in _**Hannibal**_. She thought it a gift and privilege to be with him.

'_But then I saw his face_,' she thought with a shiver. '_I will never forget the horrid, twisted mass of flesh that lay beneath the mask, not as long as I live_! _To think that poor Aria must be suffering through the torment of living with that madman_! _If it were me…oh, I can't bear to think of it_!'

If it was her, Christine was sure she would have drowned herself in the lake which stood beside the Phantom's lair. The misty water had enchanted her at first, but after that first night with the masked monster, it held nothing but terrifying promises of death and eternal imprisonment. The darkness that filled every space of the caverns were stifling, and Christine knew that if she had been forced to wed the Phantom to save Raoul, she would have been long dead by now, either by her own hand or his.

'_We must save her_,' Christine thought with determination. '_Such a young life cannot be cut short or dimmed by having to live with such a creature as that_!'

And they would save Aria. The unfortunate young woman could not be left down there for much longer, or she would surely lose her mind. The thought of eternal darkness and the dominating, forceful nature of the Phantom would drive any sane woman to weep in fear of him. For the sake of Aria Craven, both of the de Chagnys must go down into the depths of hell to save her.

'_I only hope that Raoul's plan will work_,' the young Countess thought with a sigh. '_Please God, for all of our sakes, let this plan work_!'

* * *

AN: Review! 


	19. Not As Planned

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: I'm sorry to say that there will be a few more "bumps in the road" for Erik and Aria. Don't worry, I'm a sap for happy endings, but don't you just love drama and angst? (ducks thrown objects) Please read and review! Thanks!

**Chapter 19: Not As Planned:**

Erik had returned late last night, so late, in fact, that I had been asleep on the couch in the music room when he arrived. I had meant to wait up for him, so it was a surprise to wake to the feeling of strong arms sliding underneath my knees and back. My eyes had flown open, darting around to see what was happening as my body stiffened in alarm. The sight of Erik's white mask calmed me, and I relaxed against his chest, my cheek resting upon the soft velvet of his evening coat.

I next woke in my bed, still fully dressed from the day before. I hadn't changed into my nightdress prior to waiting up for Erik, and he obviously was gentleman enough to not undress me while I slept, so I awoke to find a wrinkled gown that would have to be ironed out. Sighing, I put my hands to my head and winced at the feel of tangled knots in my hair.

'_So messy_,' I thought to myself as I rose from the bed. '_I must look the fright_!'

Quickly changing dresses and brushing out my hair, I twisted up the wayward strands into a bun and went into the kitchen for some breakfast. To my surprise, Erik was already there, absently chewing on a bit of toast. Even more surprising was that the toast was dry and without any butter or jam on it. Since Erik _never_ ate plain toast, I was immediately worried.

"Erik, are you feeling alright?" I asked, my hand pressing against his forehead. Since he wore no mask, it was quite easy to check for a fever.

Under my hand, I could feel Erik jump a bit, almost as though he'd been startled from his thoughts. Green eyes darted upwards to look at me, and I could feel the heat from his face as he blushed in embarrassment at being caught by surprise.

"Forgive me," he said with a smile. "I was thinking and did not hear you come in."

I couldn't help laughing. "I noticed," I teased. "You normally put something on your toast, and you must have been very distracted in order to keep eating that dry thing without flavoring."

Erik looked down at the plain piece of half-eaten toast and winced. "You are right," he muttered, reaching for a jar of apricot jam. "It has been a long day and night…"

Sitting down beside him, I felt concern swell up inside me. "Is everything alright?" I pressed. "You're not ill, are you?" Erik, who was busy eating, merely shook his head. "Is it the production of _**Carmen**_? Is that what's wrong?"

He finished his mouthful of toast and smiled. "No, it is not the opera, my sweet Aria," Erik replied, reaching out with his free hand to touch my cheek. "It is merely some business that I need to take care of. I promise that all will be well by this evening."

Since I knew that Erik would never lie to me, I smiled and reached up to caress his hand, still pressed against my cheek. "Well, if you're sure, then I think everything will be fine," I said.

"It will be," he said, a contented smile still on his lips as he finished his toast. "Now, I must be off, but I trust you will be able to amuse yourself until I return later this afternoon."

Rising from my chair along with him, I let my surprise show. "You will be gone all day?" I asked in disbelief. Erik was never gone for that long.

Strong, gentle hands on my shoulders gave me comfort. "It is important," he said softly. "You need not worry, my love."

A sweet, lingering kiss on my mouth, and he was gone, leaving me standing in a daze.

* * *

Never before had Erik felt so excited or impatient, not even when it had come to opening nights at the Opera House. Normally he had been cold and calculating regarding important matters, but now he felt an almost childlike glee in what he was about to do. First, he must retrieve the ring that he hoped Nadir had purchased for him, and then, hopefully, his plans would all turn to gold by evening's end. 

Pulling his hood even tighter around his head, Erik went up the steps to the front door and knocked. Thankfully, the grey clouds and drizzle of the day before still lingered, so he, a person hooded and cloaked, did not stand out. People gave way to him, but it was only because he was so tall, and people tended to give way to figures who were taller and more intimidating than themselves.

The door opened, and Erik soon found himself once again in the Persian's sitting room. The older man was standing before the fireplace, the mantle above it holding a wooden box the size of Erik's fist. Almost instantly, Erik felt his heart quicken. He did not think that Nadir could have procured something so valuable so soon; in fact, the most that Erik had hoped for was to wait impatiently while Nadir and Darius went shopping and returned with a ring that was close to suitable.

"Ah, Erik, you are early," Nadir said in a warm, welcoming voice. "Will you sit and have something to eat and drink, or-"

"I would like to see the ring, if you don't mind," Erik blurted, eager to see what his friend had purchased. He wanted to see if it was worthy of sitting on Aria's hand for the rest of her life.

"Of course." Nadir grinned as he turned around and picked up the box. Turning back towards Erik, Nadir nearly jumped out of his skin upon seeing the other man standing so close, especially after not hearing him move. Shaking his head, Nadir presented the precious container to the impatiently waiting masked man.

Erik held his breath as he accepted the box and slowly opened it. Inside was a red velvet cushion holding a lovely diamond and pearl engagement ring. The most he had hoped for was a plain ring with a large stone in it to impress Aria. This ring was delicate and elegant, just like his intended bride. A round diamond the size of a small pea was the center stone, and two small white pearls, one on each side, only enhanced the glittering beauty of the jewel they bordered.

Smiling, Erik looked up, a feeling of great joy spreading throughout his heart. "Thank you, Nadir," he said, closing the box and tucking it into a pocket inside his coat. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Oh, I think I have an idea," the Persian replied, giving a fatherly smile. "And since you are so pleased with the ring, I can only guess that that it must be what you were hoping to present to your potential bride-to-be." He laughed at Erik's blush. "Come, have lunch with me, since all of this must be going ahead of schedule for you."

Having nothing better or more pressing to attend to, Erik accepted the offer and pulled off his cloak.

* * *

"It is time," Raoul said to his wife as he entered the elegant sitting room. 

Christine looked up from her sewing. "Now?" she said in disbelief, surprised at the sight of her Raoul dressed for battle. Silently, she was thinking, '_I'm not ready, I can't do this now_!'

She had seen him leave the room earlier, but hadn't thought anything of it, and had gone back to her sewing. Now he had returned with a sword and a pair of pistols in his belt, looking as though he were ready for war. In a way, he was; he would be fighting the Phantom of the Opera, and would need every advantage he could get. Fortunately, after much begging and pleading, Christine had managed to procure a small, limited map of the underground tunnels from Madame Giry. Madame did not like the idea of helping the de Chagnys, but could hardly refuse the woman she had long considered a daughter. However, the map was not complete, as Madame did not know all of the secret passages; instead, she had drawn a pathway that she was very familiar with, and knew would be relatively safe, as long as they kept their eyes and ears open for anything.

"It must be now," he insisted. "I am ready to do this, and must go before I lose what little patience and nerve I have."

Quietly gathering her courage, Christine put aside her sewing, rose from her chair and went to stand beside her husband. In her heart, she knew that this must be done, but she feared not only for her own life, but for Raoul's as well. Images of him dangling at the end of a noose with the Phantom laughing at their despair left her blood feeling cold.

"Then let us go," she whispered, moving to summon a servant to fetch her cloak.

* * *

Within ten minutes, both Christine and Raoul were on their way to the Populaire, their hands clutched tightly together, feeling as though they were riding to their deaths. Even though the scents and sounds of springtime were in the air, the two felt as though an icy mist had filled the carriage, surrounding them, separating them and cutting them off from the rest of the world. 

As the carriage pulled up to the front of the Populaire, Raoul made sure to keep a calm façade as he escorted his wife out onto the sidewalk. Christine, too, did her best to look collected as she followed her husband into the Opera House that had once been her home. Since there were preparations going on for a new performance, all of the employees were in the auditorium or running around backstage, putting everything together. This gave the de Chagnys the chance to sneak into the Prima Donna rooms without attracting anyone's attention.

After avoiding any encounters and closing the door to the diva's room behind them, Raoul turned around and went to the mirror that had once held an entrance to the Phantom's domain. Madame Giry had marked this as one of the entrances on the map she had drawn for Christine. The ballet mistress had also told her foster daughter that the entrance was to be used as a means of escape, just in case either she or Raoul found themselves prisoners of the Phantom once again in the future.

Reaching out, the Count pressed his fingers against the upper left-hand corner of the large mirror, and gasped upon seeing the glass slide back. Christine also gasped, and when he turned to look at her, she was pale as a sheet.

"Christine, you don't have to go with me," he whispered, pulling her into an embrace. "If you wish to stay here instead, I will not be angry."

She shook her head. "I must do this," she softly replied. "If you do engage the Phantom in battle, I can help steal Aria away and bring her here. It is the only way."

Reluctantly allowing her to go, Raoul turned and picked up a nearby lamp. He quickly lit it and stepped towards the door, though not before feeling Christine's reassuring hand slip into his. Taking a deep breath, the two stepped into the stone tunnel, blinking at the sudden darkness. Raoul raised the lamp and began to lead them both down to the depths of the hidden cellars.

* * *

The cavern was too quiet without Erik, but I managed to find a few music boxes that he had created, flipping them open so that I had something to listen to. Most of the songs were by famous composers, their melodies filling the air with delicate chimes that left me smiling. However, one or two of the music boxes held the bolder songs that were purely Erik's, and those were the ones I listened to the most. It was like having Erik here in the house with me, and it made me feel safe and warm in our house by the lake. 

Lunchtime came and went, and just as I was settling in to read another mythology text, I heard the sound of a footstep behind me. At first, I thought it to be Erik, but when I heard another step, this one different than the one before, I knew it couldn't be him. These steps were too timid to be his, and I knew his step better than anyone else's. Whirling around, I found myself staring.

There, standing before an open doorway that blended into the stone wall surrounding it, stood a young man. He had shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes, and was armed as though preparing for a war. He was well-dressed, meaning he came from a wealthy family, and had a noble air about him. In fact, he appeared so noble it made me feel ill.

'_Gah, what a fop_,' I couldn't help thinking to myself. '_He reminds me of all those idiots my aunts kept trying to introduce me to, hoping that I would choose one to marry_.'

Behind the Fop stood a young woman so lovely I felt like a lump of mud compared to her. Wide, innocent brown eyes, curling brown hair, and skin the color of porcelain, she was almost angelic in appearance. I also recognized her face, since the mannequin standing in that locked room bore her face. It was Christine Daae, and the man standing beside her had to be her husband Raoul, the Count de Chagny. However, I wanted to be absolutely sure of their identities.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "How did you get here?"

"Don't be afraid," The Fop, also known as Raoul, said with a gentle smile. "I am Raoul de Chagny, and this is my wife, Christine. We are here to rescue you and take you back to your father."

Trying not to roll my eyes in annoyance, I left my book on the small coffee table and stood from the couch, my arms crossing over my breast. "I thank you for your noble gesture, Monsieur and Madame, but I can assure you that I don't need to be rescued. I am perfectly happy were I am, so the two of you can go back up to my father and tell him that I am well."

For a moment, the two merely stared at me as though I had lost my mind. I nearly burst out laughing at the expressions on their faces, and knew instantly that I would not like either one of them. Christine had the air of a naïve child around her, and Raoul…well, if he thought for one moment that I was going to let him play the role of a hero, he had better be prepared for disappointment. Silently, I watched as the two attempted to gather themselves together and realize what I had just said. Raoul was the first to recover and to speak.

"Mademoiselle, you cannot be serious," he said, reaching a gloved hand towards me. "You cannot mean that you wish to stay here with a masked monster who is a murderer and extortionist."

I frowned. Yes, I knew about everything that had happened over five years ago, from the money to the deaths of Joseph Buquet and those poor souls during _**Don Juan**_. However, I also knew that what Erik had done had been out of survival and the need to be accepted and loved by another human being. People did horrible things when they were in love or wanted to be loved, and Erik's actions spoke clearly of his need to have someone help him out of the darkness. Even as I stood there and looked at these foolish intruders, I knew that I was the one to help him do it.

"I do mean to stay here, whether you like it or not," I declared. "I mean no offense or disrespect, Count and Countess, but I have made my choice, and it is to _stay here_."

Silence filled the cavern, only to be broken by another party entering the room, a party that I knew very well…and who also knew our visitors…

* * *

Lunch with Nadir had gone exceptionally well, the two men indulging in fine food and conversation for hours. Erik had even treated himself to some brandy that Nadir had purchased just for him, as the Persian and his servant did not partake in alcohol, as the taking of spirits was considered a sin in the Persian religion. Still, it was a warm, comfortable time spent together, which was something that Erik had not experienced until now. 

Well, that wasn't really true; he'd had that sense of ease with Aria, but today had been his first pleasant luncheon with a male friend. The other times he'd been to Nadir's house, the two had spent many long, uncomfortable hours sitting there in the sitting room, quietly eating their food or small refreshments. After a time, one of them would make a comment about having business to attend to, and then Erik would happily take his leave to return home.

This time was not like the others. In between the ending of the meal and the time Erik next looked at the clock, he realized how late it was, and that he should to return to the woman he loved, though he did so with a bit of reluctantly. Until now, he'd never been comfortable with the Persian who wanted to be his friend and father-figure, so when he left, Erik found himself hesitating a little. But when Nadir clapped him on the shoulder and told his masked friend that he hoped to attend the wedding, Erik gave him a genuine smile and a promise to introduce him to the beautiful blushing bride.

Thus, it was with a smile and a warmth in his heart that Erik left the Persian's home to return to his own. The engagement ring was tucked in his pocket, and images of a glowing, happy Aria accepting that ring filled his mind as he made his way through the tunnels back towards his home. As he walked, Erik also couldn't help thinking about the kind of wedding gown that Aria would want, though he was sure that she would look stunning, no matter what materials or style she chose.

Reaching for the panel that would unlock the one of the many secret doorways into the cave, Erik paused. Were those _voices_ coming from the next room? He managed to distinguish three voices, one of which he knew instantly. Furious that his home and his love were being disturbed, Erik threw open the door and flew into the room, freezing in place upon seeing who it was standing there with his Aria.

The Count and Countess de Chagny.

* * *

AN: Dun, dun, DUN! Cliffhanger! Evil of me, I know, but they're fun…for me. Review! 


	20. Bound

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Yes, I know, I'm evil for giving you guys a cliffhanger. But it keeps everyone interested and reading, so it's not all bad. Anyway, here is the next chapter, so enjoy reading and please leave a review! Thanks a bunch!

**Chapter 20: Bound:**

For a moment, everyone stood there in complete and utter silence. Shock was written on everyone's face, and the only sounds filling the empty air happened to be dripping water and harsh, deep breathing. Glancing around, I noticed, to my amusement, that the Count and Countess looked ready to either run away or faint where they stood. Even though the Count was well-armed, he still looked like a frightened mouse.

Meanwhile, Erik was a tall, dark, menacing shadow, which I found incredibly attractive. His green eyes were narrowed to slits, and I could easily tell that he was thinking a dozen things at once. I watched as Erik's gloved hands clenched tightly together, almost as though he were trying his best not to attack the ones who had intruded on our home and sanctuary.

'_Though how in the world they made their way down here in the first place is beyond me_,' I thought, shooting the Countess a glare out of the corner of my eye.

I had heard that she was a great beauty, but the vacant expression in Christine de Chagny's eyes was rather disturbing. She had the physical body of a young woman, but she apparently had the mind of a child. It was no wonder she didn't want to stay with Erik after he had brought her down here; she probably didn't understand what he was trying to tell her about his feelings, and in her fear of him, she had fled. She was far too young in mind and spirit to really understand Erik's passionate need for love and affection, and as horrible as it sounds, I was quite glad that she left him.

'_After all, if she hadn't, I would never have met him and we would never have fallen in love_,' I thought with a sense of triumph.

Raoul, the Count, appeared to be no better at having thoughts in his head than his wife, although if he _did_ actually think, it was probably in the form of delusions of grandeur. He acted as though every maiden needed to be rescued, and that _he_ should be the one to do it. Why did he not understand that I did not want to be taken away from here? Was he that much of a fool and a fop? I suppose he must be, if he was married to Christine.

I tried not to snort in contempt of the couple before me. '_They certainly deserve one another. He must have an unending amount of patience if he's married to Christine and happy to be_.'

While I had been lost in my thoughts, the room had remained silent, both sides waiting for the other to make the first move. Christine was trembling behind her husband's back, and Raoul was doing his best to appear noble and brave in this situation. If the air hadn't been so filled with tension, fear, and anger, I would have laughed. As it was, I was doing my best to see who would move first.

* * *

This wasn't right. Right now, he and Aria should be alone in the house beside the lake, enjoying each other's company before she went off to make supper. Then, later tonight, he would ask her to be his wife. As it was, Erik felt as though he had stepped into his worst nightmare, and he desperately wanted to grab Aria and run as far away from here as he could. She might even thank him for it, too, since she didn't appear to be happy about their uninvited guests, either. 

Inside his coat pocket, Erik could feel the weight and pressure of the wooden box holding Aria's engagement ring. Just the thought of her not being able to wear it angered him, so much so that Erik could feel his fingers clenching at his sides. If he could, he'd jump across the room and strangle the Fop Count with his own hands. Not that Aria would forgive him for it, but it was a tempting thought.

The sound of someone whimpering in fear broke the silence, and the next thing Erik knew, the Count was raising his sword. To Erik's right, Aria burst into motion, dashing in front of him to prevent the Count from harming his target. Alarmed and fearful for his beloved's wellbeing, Erik reached out and grasped Aria by the shoulders, pulling her back and turning her towards him.

"Unhand her!" cried Raoul in a foppish attempt to play the hero.

"Oh, Lord, it's like living in a horrible play, one that's been being acted out by silly children," Aria whispered, her voice music to Erik's ears.

Erik felt the corner of his mouth pull upwards into a tiny smile of amusement. If they had, in fact, been watching this scene as an observer, he would have been laughing. As it was, he could only smile just the littlest bit, his heart wishing for this moment to be over just so he could be alone with the woman he loved.

"Please let her go!" Christine cried out. "She has done nothing to you! Why do you insist on keeping her here in your darkness, in a place she does not belong?"

For a moment, Erik's heart froze. Was he really keeping her a prisoner here? She said she loved him, and he knew it was true, but was Aria willing to stay here with him? Could Aria endure living in a cave of eternal darkness and shadow with the man that she loved? Or would she grow to hate him as time moved on and she was unable to see the daylight ever again?

'_But I would never deprive her of the sun_,' Erik protested against the doubt creeping into his mind. '_I would never imprison her down here_! _She would be free to visit the surface anytime she liked_!'

And yet, that did not seem like it would be enough for her. Aria might grow to despise him for having such control over her life, and if she grew to hate him, Erik knew he would die. The moment she took her love away from him, his heart would wither and fade, like a rose left to die in a desert. Even now he could feel that fear of losing her, and in his desperation, Erik pulled Aria tightly against him.

For a moment, his fear dissipated as Aria pressed her face into his shirt front. Through the thin material, he could feel her warm breath against his skin, and it was heaven to him. Her arms reached up, pressing her hands against his chest, the pressure of them comforting and delicious. It was like they were married already, and Aria had come running to greet him just as he returned from a long day of doing business up at the Populaire. Unable to resist, Erik pulled her closer to him with one arm as one reached inside his cloak. The sound of a pistol clicking into place stopped him mid-movement.

"Don't move," Raoul ordered, his voice full of authority.

Aria gasped and turned her head to look at him. She saw exactly what Erik did: a loaded and ready-to-fire pistol aimed at Erik's chest. The sight froze Erik's blood in his veins, and he felt Aria begin to tremble. They both saw the determination in the Count's blue eyes, and the firm set of his chin told them that he was going to carry out whatever mission he was currently on.

Behind him, Christine had her hands latched on to her husband's shoulder, almost as though merely touching him was keeping her safe from Erik's wrath. Once, long ago, the fear in Christine's brown eyes would have sent Erik to his knees, begging for her forgiveness at making her so terrified. Now, though, all Erik wanted to do was grab both the Count and Countess by their throats and toss them into the lake, making them pay for their interference in his personal business.

Not thinking, Erik's fingers reached for the Punjab Lasso he always kept hidden on his person, just in case. As a wanted man, he believed it necessary to keep his weapon of choice close at hand, especially when he went out into the world. From previous experience, Erik had learned that people tended to want to play the hero and destroy the Phantom, much like the Fop was doing now. The Punjab Lasso was an assurance of his ability to handle any sort of situation, should it arise.

'_Except in this case_,' Erik thought bitterly. '_Now Aria is in danger, and it's my fault for not putting enough traps up in the passageways_!'

Soft, gentle hands grasped his, preventing him from pulling out the Lasso. Looking down, Erik saw Aria's beautiful, loving, deep brown eyes gazing up at him, begging him not to do what she thought he was doing. For a moment, Erik thought to disobey her silent plea; in his mind, he imagined himself throwing the noose around the Count's neck and snapping it in two, thereby saving Aria and keeping her with him. True, it would leave Christine a widow, but that meant little to him now. All that mattered was the engagement ring in his pocket and the image of Aria wearing it forever.

The grip of Aria's hands on his halted his thoughts, reminding him of what he had to lose if he committed murder in front of the woman he loved. If he killed the Count, Aria would hate him for the rest of her life, and Erik could not bear that. She would hate him forever, and he would undo all of the wonderful memories and moments that the two of them had built together.

'_No_,' Erik thought to himself as he looked down into Aria's eyes. '_I will not taint those memories with blood. No matter how much I desire the Count dead and out of our lives, __**I**__ will not be the one to end it_.'

"Let her go," demanded the haughty voice of the Count de Chagny.

"Please, Aria," pleaded Christine. "Let us take you back home, back to your father where you belong!"

Erik watched anger flare in Aria's eyes, and knew that she was about to say something that she could not take back. Instead of letting her give Raoul and Christine the tongue-lashing they deserved, Erik grasped her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.

"Please, Angel, do not say something that will get us both killed," he whispered to her. She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued. "He has a pistol, and even though it only has one or two shots in it, I would rather not see you covered in blood, be it yours or mine."

His fingers drifted up and down her arms, caressing first her shoulders then moving down to grasp her hands. "You must go with them, my love," he whispered. "I would not have your death on my hands, for I would not be able to live with myself it I allowed you to be hurt."

Although his voice was comforting, Erik felt as though his heart were being torn from his chest. It was with this breaking heart that he watched Aria's eyes fill with tears, and he knew that she, too, felt this burning pain inside. They had only just found each other, and now it was being taken away by a pair of thoughtless, naïve children. Why was life so cruel to those who did not deserve it?

"I will go," Aria whispered back to him. "But before I do, will you promise me something?"

Erik gave her as much of a smile as he could muster in a situation like this. "There is nothing in this world, or the next, that you could ask of me, and that I would refuse you," he whispered, his voice full of the love and desire he felt for her.

Aria did her best to return his smile. "Promise me…that you will come for me, as soon as you can," she begged. "Promise me that we will be together again."

That was something he was all too willing to give. "I promise."

* * *

I felt safer knowing that Erik would do his best to come for me. He reached up and traced his finger along my neck, the sensuous touch making my knees feel like they would melt out from under me. Thankfully, they did not, for I was certain that the Fop Count would interpret that as a way of Erik harming me and would try to shoot him. I barely managed to keep myself on my feet when his hand pulled away, leaving me wanting more. 

"I will leave messages for you in the chapel," Erik said, his lips not even moving as he spoke. "There is a loose brick near the bottom of the candelabra that holds the tribute candles for the dead. The cleaning staff never moves the candelabra when they dust the chapel, and the brick stands directly under the portrait of the late Monsieur Frederick Giry, Madame's husband. His portrait is clearly marked. You have but to go there, lift the brick, and retrieve or leave a note. I will come to check for your message every evening."

"I will do the same," I quietly replied. "My father will think I am turning into a devout Christian, for all of my visits to the chapel!"

I felt Erik's lips press against my forehead and sighed. It was time for me to go, though I did so with a heavy heart. Turning towards the Count, however, I knew that there was something I had to do before I left. The anger burning in the young man's eyes had to be dealt with, or else there would be bloodshed.

"Before I go with you, Monsieur de Chagny, I must have your solemn vow that you will not hurt him," I said in a firm and commanding tone. "You must swear to me, as a noble and a man of your word, that you will not harm this man." I stepped back and placed my hand on Erik's shoulder.

The Countess gasped in shock at what I was asking her husband to do. Meanwhile, the Count looked both angry and upset at my demand, but I knew he would do ask I asked. In the short time we had been down here together, I could read this man's character like an open book: if there was one thing he could not refuse, it was the request of a lady asking him for his word. It was clear that the Count took his position as a noble very seriously, and to have it in question was an insult both to him and to his family, something he could not allow.

'_My God, he is a Fop_,' I thought with annoyance. '_How Christine manages to put up with him is something I would very much like to know. Then again, I'd also like to know how Raoul puts up with __**her**__ every day_.'

As I watched the young Count frown in thought over my demand of him, I greatly pitied the employees of the de Chagny estate. While I was sure that both Christine and Raoul were a good master and mistress to work for, I knew that I would quickly lose my mind if I worked in that household. I silently hoped that they would both mature soon, for their own sakes.

"Very well," Raoul grudgingly complied. "You have my word as a noble and a gentleman that I will not harm…" He trailed off, not knowing what to call the man before him.

"Erik," I replied. "His name is Erik."

"That I will not harm _Erik_," the Count practically spat. "Now, quickly, let us get out of here, Mademoiselle. Your father is waiting for us."

I turned and gave Erik one last look. "I love you," I silently told him with my lips.

He nodded and slowly stepped back.

* * *

Watching Aria leave was the most painful experience he'd ever had to face; not even watching Christine leave with Raoul caused him this much agony. Now, five years after seeing the two young lovers sail out of his life, Erik was once again standing by as they left his home, though this time was far different. This time, they were taking away the one person he truly loved, and he could do nothing to stop them. 

'_I gave my word_,' he thought silently fuming. '_Besides, there is a loaded pistol aimed at my chest, and I doubt my lasso will do much good at this point_.'

In his mind, Erik had silently hoped that the Count would lead the way up through the caverns, thereby leaving only Christine to deal with in the matter of getting Aria away from them. However, the Fop was a bit cleverer than Erik had given him credit for: instead of walking ahead of them, Raoul stayed behind, keeping the firearm pointed in Erik's direction while Christine took Aria's hand and led her upstairs.

In his mind, Erik went over the layout of the passages. There were half a dozen ways for Erik to head them off and snatch Aria back, but he would not risk a stray bullet hitting his beloved, especially if Raoul decided to once again play the hero. Then there was the chance of Raoul trying to fight his way out with a sword, which would once again put Aria's life in danger.

'_Stupid Fop_,' Erik thought as the group disappeared down the corridor and out of sight. '_He and Christine could not have found their way through the caves on their own, so how did they get down here_? _I doubt that even Christine remembers how she got down here or escaped the first time_ _they were both here_, _so how did they find the way down to my home_?'

The only explanation was that someone had betrayed him to the de Chagnys. It was not Nadir, as the Persian had no connections to the wealthy couple, nor would he want to destroy Erik's chance at happiness, love and marriage. That left one other person, only one other who knew their way down to the Phantom's lair and could make it alive and unharmed.

"Madame Giry," Erik growled aloud into the emptiness of his house. The one female in the world he could trust (besides Aria), and she had handed over directions to his home without a thought. She had betrayed him in ways he never thought she would. It might be due to her love for Christine, but that was no excuse!

Once he was sure he was alone, Erik began to plot. '_First I will deal with the de Chagnys and get Aria back_. _Then, once she and I are safely married, I will deal with Madame Giry. Nobody betrays the Ghost and gets away with it_! _Nobody_!'

* * *

AN: Sorry about making Aria go with the Fop and the Twit, but that's the way it played out in my head. Please forgive me! Thanks, and please review! 


	21. Home Again

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: Yes, Aria is with the Fop and the Twit, heading up towards her family. I know lots of people will be mad, but I love a good conflict, don't you? Enjoy the chapter, and please review!

**Chapter 21: Home Again:**

The walk upwards was strained, to say the least. The Count was behind me, and the Countess was practically dragging me along behind her like a rag doll. She was also chattering softly to me, as though filling the air with sound would keep any danger at bay. I was just beginning to get annoyed when we stopped before what appeared to be a doorway leading into the Prima Donna's room.

'_So __**this**__ is how he managed to get me out of my bedroom_!' I thought, very impressed with Erik's ingenuity. I doubt that such a thing existed anywhere but here in the Opera Populaire.

I watched as the door opened and was quickly pulled though the opening by the Countess. Once Raoul had stepped in behind me, I turned around, watching in surprise as the doorway became a mirror. It was a brilliant design, and at least now I knew how to get out of here, if I had to.

"We'll have to ask Monsieur Craven to block up that doorway," Raoul was saying as he tucked away his weapons. "We can't have the Ghost sneaking in here and trying to steal you away again."

"Oh, for Heaven's sakes!" I muttered, pulling my hand away from Christine and backing away from the two of them.

I wanted to say more, perhaps throw a few insults at the people who had taken me from Erik's arms, but the real entry door to the room opened, and in walked Madame Giry. The ballet mistress gave us a stunned look before rushing over to Christine and pulling her into a tight hug.

"Oh, thank goodness!" she exclaimed, pulling back from the former diva with a smile. "I'd heard that you were here at the Populaire, and when you did not show up at the managers' offices or at my rooms, I'd feared the worst!"

Christine gave her foster mother and former instructor a bright smile. "We're safe and sound, Madame, do not worry. See? We've brought Aria Craven back from the depths of the Opera House!"

Madame turned and looked at me. For a moment, her stern gaze examined me intensely, so much so that I felt like an insect being studied. I watched as Madame's eyes looked me over from head-to-toe until she finally looked away, apparently satisfied with my appearance. I was puzzled at her behavior, but said nothing while she turned her attention back towards her former charge.

"Well, at least you are all well," Madame stated. Her eyes now turned towards Raoul. "Monsieur, it would probably be best if you went to the main offices and informed Monsieur Craven that his daughter has returned."

Raoul gave a formal bow. "As you wish, Madame," he said. "Christine, would you accompany me? I'm sure that Madame can look after Mademoiselle Craven while we speak with her father."

Christine gave him a beaming smile before walking over and taking his hand. In seconds, the two immediately left the room, leaving me behind with my new caretaker. There was a brief, uncomfortable silence as we both stood there in the middle of the room, trying to look at each other out of the corners of our eyes. As one, we both took a step closer to the chairs, I myself picking the one closest to me so that I could sit and fiddle with my skirt. While fidgeting with my dress, I could feel her eyes studying me once more, almost as though she were trying to look into my heart and soul in an attempt to see if I was hiding anything from her.

"You did not wish to return," Madame said in a clipped voice.

I looked up at her in surprise. "I'm sorry?" I blurted out, confused at the question.

"I said that you did not wish to return here," she waved her hand around. "You did not want to come back to the Populaire, to your rooms, to your family. Why?"

My chin tilted upwards in defiance of anything she might say or accuse me of. "That is none of your business," I retorted, turning away from her.

Besides, how could she understand what I was going through? How could she possibly understand that I was in love with the man who had burned down the Opera House, extorted money from its managers, and even committed murder in front of live audiences? Even if I wanted to tell her, I wouldn't; she would have me sent to the mental asylum, and Lord knows that there's no escape from there once you're sent in!

"It is my business," Madame snapped back at me. "Do you know what he is?"

I flippantly waved my hand in a dismissing gesture. "Yes, yes, murderer, extortionist, arsonist, etc, etc, etc," I said, my tone uncaring as I looked over and saw Madame's shocked face.

"You do not care?" she said, her voice soft. "You do not care what he has done to others and that he must pay for it?"

Now I was getting angry. "Despite what you might think of me, Madame, I am not some naïve child like Christine Daae," I snapped. "I know what he's done, and I do not care, simply because of the fact that he did those things because he has been deprived of love, kindness and understanding. It is because of his face, and because society will not accept him for the genius that he is, that the poor man has been forced to live the life of a criminal. Therefore I blame everyone else in the world but him."

'_I will accept him for the man that he is and the good man that he wants to be, whether she believes me or not_.' I held my head up, looking down upon a woman most considered intimidating, a woman that was a driving force within the Opera Populaire.

It looked as though Madame wished to reply to my words, but was unable to do so, since at that very moment my father came flying in through the door.

* * *

Roland whirled around as the door to his office flew open and in rushed Raoul and Christine de Chagny. Normally, he would have been either annoyed or alarmed at the sight of the pair rushing in on him, but the broad smiles on their faces spoke volumes. Hopefully he was reading them correctly in what they were trying to tell them with their facial expressions. 

"You've rescued her?" he breathed. "You've brought my daughter back to me?"

"Yes, Monsieur," Raoul declared with a broad smile. "Your daughter is home, safe and sound."

"She is in the Prima Donna's rooms," Christine said, a lovely, joyful smile on her glowing face.

Not bothering to reply, Roland was rushing out the door and up towards the main dressing rooms, his heart beating in his chest. Aria was finally home where she belonged. Who knew what sort of horrors his poor daughter had suffered at the hands of that madman?

'_Perhaps I should move her out of the Opera House_?' he thought as he ran down the hallways.

No, Aria would never forgive him if he did that. She loved the Populaire with all her heart, and was such a lover of music that he doubted that she would want to leave. However, she might be persuaded to change her mind, and if she agreed to it, he would buy a separate house in Paris and move them both into it. Besides, he highly doubted that the Ghost would leave the Opera House he haunted.

'_Well, we'll save that for later_,' he thought as he arrived at the Prima Donna's rooms.

Grinning, Roland burst inside, his heart soaring at the sight of his daughter. Rushing forward, he lifted Aria from her chair and enveloped her in a tight embrace. He was relieved to feel that she looked very well and healthy, since no ribs could be felt through her clothes. She had been well-fed, at least, and that was a blessing. The Ghost hadn't tortured her with starvation and thirst.

Pulling away, Roland looked down at Aria and studied her. She was dressed in a lovely red gown, and had a white-and-gold silk shawl about her shoulders. Apparently the Ghost had used his stolen funds in order to provide a wardrobe befitting a young woman of Aria's social status. The scent of roses lingered in the air about her, and Roland suspected that it was a perfume of some sort.

'_But why would he give her something as costly as perfume_?' he wondered before pushing the thought aside.

Well, it didn't matter. For whatever twisted reasons the Ghost had for giving Aria gifts, Roland was sure that it was only to make her believe that her imprisonment was anything but that. Now that she was safely home, they could put this whole mess behind them. Hopefully she would agree to live somewhere other than the Opera House, someplace that was safely away from the ominous reach of the Phantom!

'_Perhaps Christine de Chagny could help persuade her. After all, she already knows all about the dangers, and she might have an easier time convincing Aria to leave the Populaire_.' Roland looked down at his daughter, who was gazing back at him with serious brown eyes. '_Besides, Christine is a Countess, and Aria could benefit from a friendship with such a good role model_.'

Smiling, Roland reached up and pressed his palms to his daughter's face.

* * *

Looking into my father's blue eyes, I could tell that he was planning something that wasn't going to make me happy. He always got this determined look whenever he thought of something that would be 'for the best,' or something he thought would 'do me good,' and he always brought it up at the worst possible time. I was currently not in the mood to hear what he had to say or recommend, but I could see that he was going to tell me, nonetheless. 

"Aria, I've been thinking…." Father began, a concerned and focused look on his face.

'_Oh, dear_.' I inwardly winced, knowing instantly what would come next.

"Aria, I believe it would be best if you left the Populaire," Papa said, his eyes filled with worry as he looked at me. "I would feel better if I knew that you were no longer at risk of being kidnapped in the middle of the night from your room."

For a moment, I felt terribly guilty. When I had been with Erik, all of my troubles had vanished to the point where I no longer thought about them. I had not thought about my father or what he had been suffering through the entire time I had been down in the caverns. Had I been selfish in forgetting those who worried about me and my life while I was gone? Had I become a bad person in my time away from my family?

In the meantime, my father had still been talking while I had been lost in my thoughts, and I had missed most of what he had speaking of. What he said next, though, made me want to retch.

"Furthermore, I think that you would benefit greatly from the friendship you could forge with the Countess," Father was saying, his face beaming with joy at the prospect of being friends with a French aristocratic family.

I barely bit back a snort of contempt at the idea. There was no possible way I was going to become friends with the woman who had broken Erik's heart and left him in torment. Besides, the Countess possessed the mentality of one of my little cousins: hopelessly innocent and naïve, and if you wanted to distract her, you could probably do it with some shiny new toy or trinket.

'_Oh, now, that was cruel of me_,' I chided myself, even though I was smiling on the inside.

It was still amusing, though, as horrible as it was for me to think it. Of course, I would not say any of my thoughts out loud, since they would anger my father, but if he tried to throw the Countess de Chagny and myself together as friends, I would be making life very difficult for her. I did not like Christine, and I highly doubted that anything would change my mind on the matter.

'_Unless she grew a mind of her own and apologized to Erik for what she did to him_,' I reasoned. '_If she did that, I might possibly consider the idea of forgiving her, just a little_.'

"Aria, are you listening to me?" my father demanded.

Pulling my attention back to the present, I gave him the most sincere and apologetic smile I could muster. "I'm sorry, Papa," I said, my shoulders sagging in an exaggerated manner. "I'm afraid that I am rather tired right now. Would you mind if I got some rest and spoke to you tomorrow morning?"

I heard my father step back from me and run to the cord that would summon a maid to us. In minutes, the maid had arrived and received instructions from my father, most of which were orders to do everything I asked and to make me comfortable. The maid curtseyed and went to ready me a bath, which Papa believed I needed and which I did not argue against.

In less than twenty minutes, I was settled in a hot bath and left alone with my thoughts, the steam from the hot water clearing my head. The soap that had been added to scent the water was crisp and intense, relaxing my mind and body at the same time. Leaning back in the tub, I relished the feel of the water as I tried to think of a way to out of this mess and back to Erik's home.

* * *

Something was wrong. She could feel it in the air, and if there was one thing that Antoinette Giry could detect, it was when something was wrong in the Opera House. The return of Mademoiselle Aria Craven to her father should have been a joyous occasion, but it wasn't. 

'_Well, Monsieur Craven was happy enough_,' Madame thought to herself. '_He ordered several large casks of wine to be brought to the Populaire so that everyone could celebrate her return to us_.'

Of course, the employees of the Populaire had no idea just _where_ Aria Craven had returned _from_. Madame knew that the girl had been kidnapped by the Phantom, but the other workers thought that the girl had merely been in England with her grandmother this whole time. No one but Roland and Aria Craven, the de Chagnys, and Madame Giry herself knew where the young woman had been for the past two months.

'_And yet, despite all that she has been through, Mademoiselle Craven does not appear to be happy to be home_.'

That was very odd indeed. Christine had looked beyond ecstatic at escaping the Phantom's lair, as had Raoul. Why was it that Aria Craven did not have the same air of joy and relief at being brought back home to those who loved her?

'_It makes no sense at all_,' Antoinette thought as she returned to her rooms, slipping past giggling cleaning maids and drunken stagehands as she walked.

The two Cravens had forgotten her presence in the room, so before the serving maid had arrived, Madame had taken careful note of their reactions. Roland Craven was beyond happy at having his daughter back, that was perfectly clear. He had reacted like any other father would when his missing child came home: hugs, affectionate glances, and the ordering of servants to make his daughter happy and comfortable after her ordeal. It was Aria that Madame was actually worried about...

As a lifelong student of dance, as well as a ballet instructor, Madame Giry possessed the skill of reading body language. With this skill, she could make her students tell a story and show emotion through dance, hopefully in a way that the audience could see. And since she knew so much about the way a person _should_ respond to a welcoming hug, Madame was shocked at the manner in which Aria had reacted to her father's embrace.

She shook her head and entered her rooms, frowning in thought. What could possibly make that girl so cold to the reception her father had given her? Christine would have been thrilled to have her father standing there with open arms of welcome, and yet Aria didn't even bat an eye. In fact, Aria seemed to not want to be there in the first place!

'_That's absurd_,' Antoinette thought with a shake of her head, then stopped.

But what if it was true? What if Aria truly did not want to be back home with her father? What if she had wanted to stay down in the caverns with the Phantom? But why would she want to stay down there in the first place? Had the Ghost made any threats, declaring that if Aria did not stay with him, he would hunt down her family and destroy them? Could that be the reason?

'_No, that could not be it_,' Madame thought as she went to her dressing table and sat down, her eyes focused on her reflection as she lost herself in contemplation. '_The only other possibility is_…'

No. It was not possible. That man was not capable of that particular emotion. Hate, anger, aggression, obsession and a dozen other dark emotions were more his forte than the one he had demanded of Christine five years ago. There was one emotion he longed to have, but could not experience, and that was _love_. The Opera Ghost cannot love. It was not possible…was it?

She would have to find out, one way or another. If not to ease her mind, then to at least help Aria Craven, for if she could learn to love a Ghost and get him to love her, then she was certainly worth helping.

* * *

AN: Yay, Madame Giry's going to help out Aria and Erik (in her own way). Please review! 


	22. Trapped

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Okay, I know that people are going to want Aria to start smacking people around for taking her away from Erik, but please remember the following: women didn't do that sort of thing very often, and were often repressed. However, our dear leading lady will be acting against the norm of those days, and will shock quite a few people. I hope you'll enjoy the chapter and will review! Thanks!

**Chapter 22: Trapped:**

Not even a full day back aboveground, and already I felt as though I were going to lose my mind. Father and Uncle Gregory had been hovering over me like worried old nurses, asking me if I needed anything or if I was alright. I finally had to be rude to them and say that I was fine, and to stop fussing over me. Reluctantly, they stopped, but only after I had practically ordered them to go back to work, turning their attention back to where it belonged: overseeing the production of _**Carmen**_.

Thus far, I'd been attended to by no less than two or three people at one time. Meg, upon hearing of my return, practically skipped into my room right after her morning ballet rehearsals with her mother. Christine arrived with the petite blond ballerina, since she was such a close friend of Meg's, and the two of them filled my ears with light, nonsensical chatter until lunchtime, much to my annoyance.

Our afternoon meal arrived with Madame Giry in tow, and the three of them started a conversation that left me feeling shut out of their little world. For appearances, they were there to "attend" to my needs; in truth, however, they were using the opportunity to get together in one place and talk about people, places, and private events I didn't know anything about. I was left sitting in my chair, bored out of my mind with a pounding headache forming behind my eyes while they talked.

When the evening hours approached, they finally left without even giving so much as a nod of farewell or apology for taking up so much of my time. Thankfully, I was left alone for the rest of the evening, and was able to enjoy a quiet meal with just myself as company. My father and uncle were busy seeing to the details of the opera, Madame Giry and Meg probably had dance things to see to, and I was sure that Christine was chatting mindlessly with her husband, Raoul.

After my supper dishes were cleared away, I sat down and began composing a letter to Erik. I wished that he would come and see me, but I didn't want us to get caught unawares and in each other's company. Maids and other servants were prone to entering rooms unannounced, especially if I had any unscheduled visitors, so it did not surprise me that Erik did not appear to me once I was alone. Besides, I knew that he probably felt the same way about being discovered, and that we would have to come up with a plan by exchanging secret messages, one of which I composed once I was alone.

It was a brief note, but it would have to do. I could not afford to write something extensive, as anyone could enter the room and catch me writing it. I also couldn't risk the message being seen by any other eyes but Erik's, as that would ruin everything. Instead, I wrote a short note, one that told of my desperate need for the man I loved. I even included his name, since I doubted that anyone besides myself knew it.

_Dearest Erik,_

_Only one day of separation, and I miss you more than anything else in this world. I dare not write a long message for fear of being caught, but I must be sure that you know how much I love you and miss having you near me. Even though I long for a quick rescue, I know that is not possible as of yet, for I have no doubts that my rooms are being watched. I hope that you will give me a sign that you are watching over me and that I may see you soon._

_Love, Aria_

I quickly sealed the note with a drop of wax and drew a little heart on the corner of the envelope. Smiling at my work, I stood up and pulled a cloak around my shoulders, knowing that the chapel would be cold at this time of day. Quickly, I made my way to the little stone room which served as the Opera House's place of prayer, but I was certain that I was being followed. The footsteps trailing behind me were unknown to my ears, so I did my best to appear calm and collected as I walked from one end of the Populaire to the other.

My heart beating like mad in my chest, I stepped through the doorway of the chapel, the hinges squeaking loudly as I shut it behind me, thankful that I could be able to hear if someone tried to enter. I then went over to the candelabra that Erik had made a point of mentioning and knelt down, wincing as I felt the chill of the stones through the material of my dress. Searching quickly through the portraits, I found the one labeled as Madame Giry's late husband at the end of a line of candles and dropped my gaze to the floor. There, directly underneath the portrait, was a small stone square tile.

Smiling, I bent down and began to fiddle with it. There was no dust on the floor, meaning that the cleaners had been here recently, so there would be no sign that I had disturbed one of the floor stones. Carefully, I managed to wiggle the granite out of its place and saw a wooden box inside of it. The box was small, about the size of my hand, and of simple design, much like what a child would use to store a few small trinkets they had found. In fact, that's what I believed it to be, and for a moment I thought that I had pried up the wrong floor tile…

Until I saw the rose design carved into the wood.

Grinning broadly, I opened the container and looked inside, nearly squealing with glee upon seeing a rolled bit of paper nestled there. I bit back my cries of joy and took out the small rolled piece of parchment, my fingers caressing the black silk ribbon that held it shut. I quickly folded up the envelope that held my note to Erik and put it into the box, shutting the wooden lid and putting it back in the floor, covering it with the stone tile just in time.

Behind me, I could hear someone moving outside the door, so I twisted myself so that I was looking at an image of the Virgin Mary etched in the chapel's stained glass window. Bowing my head as though in reverence, I closed my eyes and clasped my hands together before my breast as though in prayer. The door swung open and I heard someone pause in the doorway, but did not look up to see who it was. The intruder stood there in silence for a moment, then shut the door, their footsteps retreating down the hallway as they walked.

Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, my shoulders sagged just the slightest bit. However, I did not move from my position, instead remaining there for another five minutes so that it did not look like I had been there for something other than prayer. If someone _was_ watching, they would merely think I had been there for a bit of spiritual peace before bed. It was only when my knees were beginning to ache that I decided to leave the chapel with Erik's note tucked up my sleeve.

The walk back to my rooms was like my departure from them, as I could again feel myself being followed. I managed to keep myself calm and collected until I entered my room, locking the door behind me before stripping off my cloak and pulling out Erik's message. My fingers slowly removed the black ribbon and unrolled the parchment, revealing Erik's note to me.

To my surprise, it wasn't a message that involved words. Instead, the paper held a profiled image of me while I was reading a book in Erik's music room. I was seated on the red velvet couch that sat there, and my head was bent over the text I held in my hands. I could see the corner of my mouth pulled up into a small smile and the sparkle of laughter in the eye facing the observer/artist. It was a very sweet and detailed drawing, one that made my breath catch in my throat at the sight of it.

I quickly made a vow to keep all of my notes from Erik safe, and so I searched around until I found a small lock box that I had yet to use. The key was on a small chain that could be worn around the neck, so I quickly opened it and put the drawing inside, locking it securely in its place. I pressed a small kiss to the top of the box and smiled, knowing that I was loved and missed by the man who held my heart.

* * *

Pacing back and forth through his house, Erik waited until the midnight hour tolled on the clock above his organ. Midnight signaled the usual time that most Opera House workers were either asleep or drinking themselves to sleep at some sort of party or another. No one would be near the chapel at that time, leaving it open for him to go in and see if Aria had left him anything. 

When the clock struck, Erik was up and running, his cloak swirling into place as he ran down the passageways. Thanks to his long-legged speed, he was at the hidden doorway to the chapel in minutes, his fingers prying the hidden eyehole open so that he could see inside. No one was there, and the door was shut tight to prevent animals from getting inside and upsetting the candles. Smiling, Erik slowly opened the door and peeked inside.

Still nothing. Good. In a few quick strides, he was at the loose stone and prying it up. There was the box, and with a flick of his fingers, it was open and revealing its treasures to him. There was a folded envelope there, and Erik gently picked it up with gloved fingers before returning the box to its place. Aria had gotten the carefully made drawing he had made of her, and now he would see what she had to say to him. If he was quick, he would have a reply back before supper tomorrow night.

Tucking the envelope into his vest pocket, he replaced both box and stone before heading back towards his home.

* * *

I woke my second day aboveground feeling comforted in the fact that Erik missed me and loved me in my absence. For some reason, I felt as though I were only temporarily apart from him, much like when a wife leaves a husband because she is obliged to go and visit her family. I knew that I would not be here for long, and that I would soon be returning to the arms of the man I loved. 

'_Of course, convincing Papa and Uncle that I am truly in love with the Opera Ghost is another matter entirely_,' I thought as I rolled over in bed.

I got up and washed my face and neck, then dressed in a white gown that I had brought with me from England. It was a simple dress with dark green trim along its many white ruffles in the skirt, as well as green ribbon on the bodice and sleeves. I added a cameo broach at my throat for a bit of simple elegance. After that, my breakfast was brought to me, and my happy time of quiet was over.

With the arrival of my morning meal came the Countess Christine de Chagny, Meg Giry, and Madame Giry. All three arrived unannounced and all of them sat down and began chattering, exactly as they had the day before. While they talked about the latest fashions, social gossip, and other pointless things, I managed to keep myself occupied by eating the pastries on the breakfast tray and drinking the wonderful Chinese teas that the serving maid had brought.

However, eating and drinking could only occupy me for so long, and when the meal tray was gone, I was left with three chatty women who were all ignoring me as though I weren't even there. Of course, there was the option that they thought of me as an audience and observer to their chats, but I was not amused by them or what they had to say to one another. In fact, I was growing angrier by the minute, and didn't want them here any more than my grandmother wanted filthy animals wandering through her house.

Finally, after putting up with three women who were driving me insane with boredom, I stood up and ordered them out of my room, telling them that if they wanted to chatter like a bunch of squirrels, they could do it somewhere else. They looked shocked at my rudeness, and Madame tried to protest, but I would have none of it. I was tired of having them about and treating me as though I weren't in the room, a room which happened to be my very own.

"As much as I respect you, Madame Giry, I'm afraid that listening to the three of you talk _around_ me as though I am not here is far ruder than my throwing you out for being rude in the first place," I snapped. "I do not appreciate having my rooms invaded upon in this manner. If you and your daughter wish to talk to the Countess, you may do so in your own rooms or elsewhere. Now, if you please, leave."

The three of them sat there in shock for several moments, almost as though they could not believe what they were hearing. An entire minute passed, and I had to restrain myself from rolling my eyes in annoyance as I emphasized my point by pointing towards the doorway. Madame was the first to stand, her grey eyes snapping to meet mine.

"I had thought that a family such as yours would have taught you manners," she stated in a cold voice. "It appears I was wrong."

My own eyes narrowed. I _would not_ be talked to in such a way. "Yes, you _are_ wrong," I said, my voice as icy as hers. "In fact, it is _because_ of the good manners taught to me by my family which prevented me from throwing you and your girls out of my rooms yesterday."

While Christine and Meg started at me, horrified at my defying the feared ballet mistress, I continued on. "Furthermore, I do no appreciate you barging into my rooms as though they were your own. Nor do I like having nonsense such as gossip and fashion being spoken of so frequently. I am a young woman who likes _intelligent_ conversation; if you wish to enter my rooms again, please educate yourself in more substantial topics than what I have already heard."

Complete silence filled the room as Madame Giry looked me in the eye, our gazes clashing: my brown eyes against her grey. I heard Meg and Christine quietly leave the room, breaking into a run the moment they were safely in the hallway. Madame and I stood there for another moment before I saw the corners of her eyes crinkle in amusement. I could resist blinking in surprise.

"You have spirit," she said, a smile pulling at the corners of her stern mouth. "Had you been a dancer, you would have gone far in my corps."

I stood there in surprise. Was she _happy_ that I had stood up to her? "I'm sorry?" I blurted out, my voice full of confusion.

Madame smiled, just the slightest bit. "You are right; we had no right to intrude on you, and I would not have done so, had it not been for your father and my two girls, Meg and Christine. Your father asked me to look in on you, and my girls insisted on coming with me. I hope you will excuse their childishness and need for talk; it is all they have ever known in the Opera House, and the girl's dormitories here are hardly the ideal place to learn the manners that you are so accustomed to."

Giving me one last look of amusement, she turned and left, leaving me standing there, gaping, in the center of my room.

* * *

'_The girl has courage_,' Antoinette thought to herself as she walked towards her small suite of rooms. She knew that Christine and Meg were already there, since the ballet mistress's rooms were the only place where the three of them could talk privately. 

Yes, Aria Craven had courage, as well as a stronger, bolder spirit than either Meg or Christine. As a widow, Madame Giry had been forced to raise the two girls alone, all while trying to provide a good life for the three of them. As much as she tried not to blame herself for the girls turning out the way they did, Antoinette knew that she had not been there as much as she should have. After all, her work with the _corps de ballet_ had been (and still was) a demanding job, one which required much of her attention and firm discipline. In the end, Madame had been forced to choose her work over her children, just so the three of them could eat and have shelter.

The result of Antoinette's sacrifices resulted in Meg and Christine having only each other as the true constant companions in their lives. Without a real mothering figure to help them grow emotionally and mentally, both girls had grown up as innocent and sweet as girls could be. As much as Antoinette loved her girls, it was rather refreshing being confronted by someone of a more mature nature. Aria Craven had spirit, and an intelligent mind as well.

'_She will go far_,' Madame thought to herself as she entered her rooms. '_And she is not greedy, childlike, innocent, or naïve. Because she is smart, bold, and thoughtful, she may, in fact, be able to do what no other woman has been able to do_.'

In her heart, Antoinette knew that Aria Craven just might be the one to tame the heart of a Ghost.

* * *

Lunch time came and went, and just as I was about to go into Paris for a walk, my father came to visit. From the look on his face, he was not very pleased with me. I put down my parasol, took off my hat and gloves, set them all aside, and sat on the couch, waiting for the lecture that I knew was coming. It was a well-rehearsed action, since Papa and I always went through the same motions every time he was displeased with me, so I patiently sat and waited for him to make the first move. 

"Aria," my father finally said, his voice full of exasperation and a touch of annoyance, the same tone he used every time he was displeased with me. "Aria, I have heard that you turned not only Meg and Madame Giry out of your room, but also the Countess de Chagny. What is the meaning of this rude course of action of yours? Have you no respect for others?"

I bit back a sigh, as I knew it would only anger him further. "Papa, you know that I would never treat anyone with anything less than the respect they deserve," I said, keeping my reply as truthful as possible, but wondering if he would be able to see between my words and into my actual thoughts on my uninvited visitors.

My father stood there for a moment, obviously contemplating me, my words, and their meaning. After a moment, his eyes narrowed slightly. "And what manner of respect do you think Madame Giry and the Countess deserve?" he asked while looking down at me from his standing position.

A true smile found itself to my lips. "Well, I happen to think of Madame Giry in the highest regard," I replied. "In fact, she did not mind my asking her to leave, and actually smiled at me as she left."

"And the Countess?" Father asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

Now I did sigh. "Father, I have absolutely no interest in becoming friends with the Countess de Chagny," I said, putting my opinion out for him to see.

"Aria, the Countess if of our society, and is well-connected with the French aristocracy," Father said as he sat down across from me. "She is a dear young woman, and I am sure that you could be friends if you truly made the effort to do so."

I winced at the thought of actually trying to become Christine's friend. "Father, even if she is of our level of society and is as connected as you say she is, Christine de Chagny has not had the sort of education that my cousins and I have had," I said, shaking my head. "She is not as well-developed in mind, heart, or spirit as we are. Instead, she is hopelessly naïve and innocent, and to be honest, I just cannot stand the topics of conversation that she so enjoys."

Father rose from his chair, his blue-grey eyes still focused on me. "Christine is a young woman of good manners and behavior. She is graceful, charming, and a joy to be with. She practically lights up a room when she smiles! Why would you _not_ want to be friends with a young woman like that?"

"Because the Countess does not have one single decent thought in her head!" I cried, jumping from my chair. "She talks of frivolous things, like fashion, gossip, and who is marrying who! You above all people know that I cannot abide those who have nothing intellectual to talk about."

"She is young and will learn those things," Father replied. "As you said, Christine has not had the upbringing that you have, and I am sure that you can provide as good example to her as she to you."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "She is as old as I am, and yet she has learned nothing," I retorted angrily. "I will teach her nothing, as she has nothing to teach me. If you wish for me to be a naïve simpleton of a child, then _you_ would be the fool, not me."

For a moment, my father looked at me as though he had never seen me before. "Aria, what has happened to you?" he said, his voice soft. "You have changed…you are no longer the dear girl you were before all of this. What has the Ghost done to you to make you so defiant of me?"

"Don't you _dare_ accuse him of anything," I hissed, my arms dropping to my side in fists, clenched tightly in anger. "He has been nothing but good and kind to me, and I could never repay him for all of the wonderful things I have experienced in his home."

"My God," Father said, his eyes studying me intensely. "You make it sound like you want to go back to him! Aria, that is insane!"

For a moment, I felt anger race through me. I couldn't believe that my father asked me to be friends with the Countess and learn to try and be more like her. However, I refused to be that hopelessly childish for the rest of my life. The last thing I wanted to was to lose all interest in the world around me and end up having a husband who would have to shelter me from everything I should be able to see and experience for myself.

But in spite of my anger, I was terrified of my father's claim that I was insane. The last place I wanted to be was an asylum, as I would never be able to escape from there as long as I lived. Erik would not be able to save me, and we would be separated from each other forever. I could not bear that, so in my anger and terror, I turned and fled, heading for the one room in the Opera House that could offer me hope when I needed it the most: the chapel.

* * *

AN: Review! 


	23. Comfort

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: Sorry about trying to make Christine and Aria "friends." Don't worry, it won't happen. Please enjoy the chapter, and review! Thanks a bunch!

**Chapter 23: Comfort:**

Tears ran down my cheeks as I raced for the chapel. The moment I arrived at the sanctuary, I threw open the door, ran inside, then shut and locked the door behind me. I did not want any intrusions, and privately hoped that the calm, soothing quiet of the chapel would help calm my anger and nerves. Thankfully, the room was empty, as usual; considering the sinfully indulgent lives workers enjoyed in the Populaire, it was no wonder that this room was rarely used, though it was frequently cleaned.

Sighing, I stood and looked around. The walls held candleholders filled with their lit burdens, and there were clouds and angels painted on every available space. The stained glass window held elegantly-cut images of the Virgin Mary and her Son, Jesus, both of them with golden halos about their heads. Tiny winged cherubs flew about the holy figures, and I couldn't help but sigh at the sight.

_**Believe me when I say that you far outshine that fair image, my love**_, whispered a voice into my ear.

I gasped and whirled around, my eyes searching for the source of that voice. To me, it was Erik's voice speaking, but I knew it couldn't be…could it? "Erik?" I whispered aloud, walking around the room as I searched.

_**Yes, my dear Aria, it is me. I'm here**_.

"But where?" I demanded, feeling tears swell up as I continued to look for him. "Erik, please, are you really here, or am I losing my mind?"

He must have heard the pleading and desperation in my voice, because a moment later, I watched in awe as a section of the wall suddenly opened as though by magic. One moment it was a solid stone wall, the next minute, a section of an angel's wing and robe had vanished into darkness. Erik silently slipped through the doorway, a look of concern on his handsome face as he reached for me.

Without saying a word, I ran for his embrace. His strong arms wrapped around my body, and we both sighed at being so close once more. I could feel the warmth of his body through his fine clothes, and I smiled at the fact that he wore his wonderful evening attire: a black cloak, a black coat and pants, white shirt, and a deep red-black vest. The dark colors of his outfit made the white of his half-mask glow like the pale moon against the night sky. He was so handsome, it nearly made me faint. Thankfully, I remained conscious, as I felt his chest begin to rumble as he began to speak.

"I thought to comfort you after seeing you run from your rooms earlier. Are you alright?" he whispered into my ear as he pulled me even closer to him.

I sighed and let him hold me. "I'm alright," I quietly replied while nuzzling his coat, noting that he smelled like spice and a masculine cologne. "Father just wishes for me to do something I refuse to do, that's all. I am not usually disobedient to him, but in this I refuse to indulge him."

"What did he want you to do?"

Again I sighed, this time closing my eyes as I inhaled his scent. "He wanted me to become friends with the Countess," I said, my voice filled with disgust at the idea.

For a moment, Erik was silent as he held me. When he said nothing after several minutes, I instantly began to panic. Had I been wrong to mention the Countess, the woman that he had once loved? Would he think that I should not have insulted the woman he had once called an angel? Given his past with the beautiful young soprano, would Erik actually _want_ me to become friends with Christine?

Suddenly, I felt his chest rumble. Looking up into his face, I saw his lips twitch and knew that he was trying hard not to laugh. Pouting, I reached out and gently slapped him on the chest. A low chuckle escaped Erik's wonderful mouth, and to quiet him, I stood on my tip-toes and pressed my lips to his. He froze, but immediately began to kiss me back, his arms pulling me possessively against him, his fingers digging into my back as he held me. We stood that way for several moments, kissing one another as the candles on the walls flickered and danced. For a moment, it was as though we were back in the home by the lake, and all was right in the world. I felt safe and happy, and I was right where I belonged: in Erik's arms. From the grip that Erik had on my body, I knew that he was pleased as to our situation as well.

Just then, the sound of footsteps outside the door reached my ears, and I panicked, pulling away from Erik's lips at the fear of getting caught. He, however, tightened his grip on me, pulling me so close to him that I felt the buttons on his vest through the front of my gown. The footsteps got louder, and soon came to a halt before the door of the chapel.

"I must go," Erik whispered in a hurry. "Continue using the hidden tile for our messages." He paused when I did not let go of him. "I cannot take you with me, not yet. I would rather have your family's approval of our love rather than their anger at my taking you from them once again."

Nodding, I gave him a kiss to tell him I understood. He ended the kiss far too soon for my liking, but gave me a reassuring smile before vanishing into the wall, shutting the hidden passageway behind him. Looking closer, one would never know that there was a door there.

"Mademoiselle, are you in there?" Madame Giry's voice ask through the front entrance of the chapel.

"Yes!" I said, straightening myself out before moving towards the locked door. "Yes, I am here!"

* * *

Straightening out her skirt, Antoinette attempted to look like the stern ballet mistress that so many feared and respected. That was rather difficult, though, since she had been listening at the chapel's doorway ever since Aria Craven had shut and locked the door behind her. Actually, Madame felt rather guilty about it, especially since she had resorted to the tricks her dancers used for invading another person's privacy. 

On the other hand, it had to be done. She had been worrying about the young woman for days, and whenever Aria left her room, Madame Giry was close behind her. Madame had become suspicious after Aria had left her room and come to the chapel the first time, shutting the door behind her upon entering. Normally, Antoinette wouldn't have suspected anything odd about a young woman visiting a chapel, but she had been worried for the Aria, and had followed her to be sure she was safe.

That first visit to the chapel had proved uneventful. Even after peeking inside to see if Aria was well, Antoinette had seen nothing more than a young woman praying before the image of the Lord. Feeling rather relieved at the sight, Madame had quickly left Aria to her privacy and returned to her rooms to check on Meg and retire for the night.

Today, however, was different. There was anger and frustration in the way that Aria had left her room, and Madame found herself following close behind. Again, Aria led her straight to the chapel, and so, keeping her footsteps light and nearly undetectable to the listening ear, Madame Giry followed behind her young charge. Again, the door closed, but this time, there was the distinct '_click_' of the lock being put into place, and with that sound, Madame instantly grew alarmed. Pressing her ear to the hole in the lock of the door, she listened for any suspicious sounds inside.

Within moments, Antoinette heard voices, one of them undoubtedly Aria's. The other, however, was most definitely male. The male voice was too low to understand, but it was clear that Aria Craven found her male visitor a comfort to her sorrows. Did the girl have a suitor that no one knew of, not even her father or uncle? It was highly unlikely, since the Cravens hadn't been in Paris long enough for Aria to have found a suitor in the first place. So who was it inside the chapel with the daughter of one of the Opera House's owners? Peering in through the little keyhole, Antoinette had to hold back a gasp of surprise.

There was Aria Craven, wrapped in the arms of the Phantom of the Opera!

Too shocked to move, Madame Giry sat before the keyhole and watched as the two kissed and whispered soft words to one another. If she were to look at it differently, it was a rather sweet and romantic sight, but at the present time, it was shocking. So, keeping a grip on her tongue, Madame had silently crept away from the door and down the hall a little ways. Once she was a safe distance away, she straightened herself up and walked loudly and purposely towards the chapel's door.

Reaching the closed and locked door, Madame took a deep breath and pressed her ear to the wood. There were a few hurried whispers, so faint that, if she hadn't been listening for them, they could have easily passed for a breeze flowing through the room.

"Mademoiselle, are you in there?" called the ballet mistress.

"Yes! Yes, I'm here!" was the rushed reply from within.

In a moment, the door opened, and there stood a slightly rumpled Aria Craven. Giving the young woman a closer look, Madame noticed a slight sparkle in those brown eyes, a glitter of happiness that Madame hadn't seen since before Aria's disappearance. It was quite the transformation from earlier that day, and quite a pretty one, too. Glancing discreetly over Aria's shoulder, Antoinette noted that there was no one else in the room, even though she had heard two distinct voices coming from within.

'_There is only one person who can go to and from a room in the Opera House without leaving a trace of themselves_,' Madame thought as she looked back towards Aria's face.

It had been the Ghost in that room, she had seen it with her own eyes. He was the only one who could have been inside the chapel, since he was the only one who knew all of the secret stairways and passages within the walls of the Populaire. Aria had been meeting the Phantom inside the chapel, and from the look in her eyes, Mademoiselle Craven was in love with the masked man.

'_Well, if that is the case, I certainly have my work cut out for me_!' Madame Giry thought as she hid a smile behind a mask of her very own.

* * *

The stern gaze of Madame Giry usually did not have any sort of effect on me. However, today I actually had something I did not wish for her to find out, so needless to say I became nervous when those gray eyes of hers focused on me and nothing else. 

"I saw you rush from your rooms, Mademoiselle, and grew concerned," the ballet mistress said, her eyes not moving from my face. "Is there something wrong, something I could help you with?"

For a moment, I was almost willing to accept her offer. Then I remembered that this woman possibly betrayed Erik's secret lair to the Count and Countess de Chagny, and couldn't bring myself to do it. This matter of my return to his home would have to be between Erik and myself, and our trust would only be with each other. Trusting anyone else would surely get us found out.

"No, Madame, I am fine," I said, pulling my shoulders back in order to stand taller. "But I thank you for the offer."

The left eyebrow on Madame's face arched as she grew suspicious. "As you wish. However, if you need anything, you have but to ask."

Once again, I felt the need to ask her if there was a way she could help me escape to Erik, but knew it was impossible. She would no doubt sound an alarm if I suddenly vanished without a trace, and then my father would know exactly who had taken me. Raoul and Christine would probably rush back down to the caves to retrieve me, and then this would start all over again, though there would probably be an increase in protection around me wherever I went. The thought of being so restrained left a tightened feeling in my stomach, and I had to resist the urge to be sick.

"You look terribly pale, Aria, are you alright?" Madame asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Here, let me take you back to your room."

The weight of Madame Giry's arm lying across my shoulders was oddly comforting, so I did not refuse it. Instead, I let her return me to my room and watched her stoke the fire there while she sent a maid for tea and pastries. The thought of sugary frosting and cake chased away my fears for the moment, and as soon as the plate of tiny iced cakes arrived and was offered to me, I grabbed two while Madame poured tea for the both of us.

"There, now, isn't that better?" she asked, sounding so much like my grandmother that I had to look up to be sure it was truly Madame. "I was sure that the food and drink will do you good."

I didn't argue with her. When we had ourselves comfortably situated, I savored the refreshing warmth that flowed through me, thanks to the peppermint tea I had drunk. The tea cakes were gone, and a maid had been sent for more, returning with a plate of cakes and one of cucumber sandwiches this time. Madame and I both relished the taste of the food, and soon we were both so content and full that we felt obliged to exchange conversation. I began with an innocent question, asking how long Madame had been at the Populaire, and what operas she had participated in.

At first, it had been awkward talking with her, but I found myself eager to hear stories of the different operas that she had starred in during her youth, when she had been a ballerina in the Opera Populaire. The look on Madame's face as she reminisced of the costumes and stage decorations was beautiful, and I could easily see why she had become so liked and respected here that she had been asked to stay and become the dance instructor.

'_She must have been incredible in order to be asked to stay and teach_,' I thought while sipping my tea. '_How many other dancers had come and gone once their youth and liveliness had faded_? _How many others had been forced to leave when they were of no more use_?'

Studying her closer, I saw that, even though Madame had grown older, she was still a beautiful woman. She had aged, of course, but she was strongly attractive and still possessed the ability to dance well enough to demonstrate each and every step she expected her _corps de ballet_ to learn. Most teachers could not even bend their legs or arms into the proper positions at this point in their lives, and the fact that Madame Antoinette Giry still could made me respect her even more.

Just then, the clock on my desk chimed, and Madame turned to look at the time. "Ah, I must go," she said, though her tone was full of reluctance to do so. "I must have the girls down on the stage for rehearsals, or else they will get lazy and forget their steps."

I laughed. "Then you will simply have to knock it into their heads all over again," I said, my own voice light and teasing as I smiled at her.

Madame smiled in return as she set her cup on the tea tray. "As much as I enjoy doing just that, I am afraid that tactic only makes them cry like silly little children," she replied with an exaggerated sigh. "Therefore, I must be off now to prevent certain incidents like that later."

I quickly set my own cup on the table and escorted her to the doorway. "I very much enjoyed tea today," I told her truthfully. "Perhaps we should do this again. I would like to hear more of your stories about your youth here."

Madame's smile grew broader. "And I would be happy to tell them to you," she replied. "Meg has grown tired of all of my tales, and it would be a pleasure to tell them to a new set of ears."

With that, she turned and walked down the hall, leaving me alone in my room, rethinking my decision to not tell her about me and Erik.

* * *

As she entered the practice area where the dancers met, Madame Giry found herself in an unusually pleasant mood. Normally she found herself frowning as she met with her students, but today she felt quite good. However, her feelings must have been very noticeable, for her dancers began to take notice of their instructor's relaxed mood and began to be lax in their dance efforts. 

Frowning, Madame tapped her rhythm staff on the floor in a hard and vicious manner, causing all the girls to jump fearfully to attention. "You lazy girls! Just because I do not frown at you does not mean you can become limp fish in dance shoes! Get back to your steps at once, and do them _properly_!"

Ever fearful of their instructor's wrath, the girls meekly and obediently fell into step with one another, just as they always did. For the first few minutes, Madame rapped her staff on the floor to keep time, just to be sure that the girls remembered that, at any moment, she could tap them on the leg or knock their foot into the proper position with the butt of her staff. With the threat of horrible bruises hanging over their heads, the dancers immediately began to improve.

Satisfied, Madame began to divide her attention, one half focusing on the girls, the other on the situation regarding Aria Craven. Antoinette now knew without a doubt that Aria was in love with the Ghost. She had seen the joyful sparkle in the young woman's eyes, and remembered that that exact same spark had been in her own eyes when she had been courted by her now-dead husband. However, Aria's love with Erik was a forbidden love, one that Roland Craven was sure to disapprove.

But the happiness of two people was in jeopardy, and Madame Giry felt obliged to help. She thought very highly of the Ghost who, she knew, protected Meg from the grabby fingers of the stagehands; too many of those violent men had gone missing after attempting to force themselves on Meg to be a coincidence. Now, in order to repay that kindness, Madame would help the Ghost be with the one woman who loved him for the man he was.

The trick, however, would be keeping it a secret, particularly from Aria's father.

* * *

AN: Review please! 


	24. Of Dreams Come True

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Okay, bad news: I'm going on vacation next week, so there won't be any update. However, I will post the week after, so don't hate me. Also, I'm going to speed things up a bit, most because I know that people want Erik and Aria to get back together ASAP. Plus, I have another Phantom story in my head, and I want to get started on that one soon. Enjoy the chapter, and please review!

**Chapter 24: Of Dreams Come True:**

I swear that my father was trying to drive me mad on purpose. If I heard the words, "Aria, stay here until someone can come and fetch you" once more, I would scream.

Since I had seen Erik in the chapel over a week ago, my father had taken my safety to new heights. I was not allowed to go anywhere, or do anything, without another person present. Whenever I left my room, I was followed by a maid of some sort, or by Meg or Madame Giry. However, since the performance of _**Carmen**_ was fast approaching, Meg and Madame could not often be spared, so I was frequently left with some serving girl I didn't know.

Even worse was that my father had sealed up the secret mirror entrance that led into my room. The Fop Count had kept his word and spoken of the secret doorway to my father, so I'd had the horrid experience of sitting by and watching men seal up the hidden passageway with bricks and cement. Now there would be no way for Erik to look in on me, and it was so frustrating that I just wanted to scream in order to make myself feel better.

Presently, I was waiting for a serving maid to finish with my hair for the day. I could have easily done it myself, but Papa absolutely insisted that my hair be perfect today. The reason for all of this primping was due to the fact that we were going out for lunch and some shopping with (of all people) the Count and Countess de Chagny. Since the absolute _last_ thing I wanted to do was spend the day with them, I was dreading the moment that I would have to actually leave my rooms.

A knock on the door brought my thoughts back to my surroundings, and the maid pulled away from my hair. I watched as she went to the door and opened it, my ears straining to hear what was being said there. The maid whispered frantically for my visitor for a few moments, and the person at the door whispered something back. Through the reflection in the mirror, I saw the maid hesitate just the tiniest bit before opening the door wider and admitting the visitor.

"Madame Giry to see you, Mademoiselle," the serving girl announced with a curtsey.

"Thank you, Adele," Madame declared. "You may go and tell Monsieur Roland Craven that I am taking his daughter into my own hands today. I have need of her opinion on something that cannot wait. They will have to postpone their outing with the de Chagnys until another day."

I watched in amusement as the maid curtseyed and fled, almost as if she feared what the ballet mistress would do to her if she stayed. Once the door closed and latched behind the fleeing maid, Madame turned towards me and smiled.

"I hope you do not mind my small lie," she said as the corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement. "When I had heard that you were to go out with Christine and Raoul, I felt it best if I prevented such a thing from occurring. For your own good, of course."

I smiled back at here while my hands reached up and pulled a few pins loose from my hair. The maid had put it up in a tight knot to keep it perfectly sculpted, and it was hurting my head. "I thank you kindly, Madame, but I'm afraid you've left me with a problem of what to do with myself, now that you've quite cleared my schedule for me. I'm positive that you have dance rehearsals to keep you busy this afternoon, but I, on the other hand, have nothing."

Madame _tsked_ as she walked over to me, her hands going straight for my hair and the pins. In minutes, her skilled fingers were pulling out hairpins and moving them into different places as she rearranged the chignon that the maid had put my hair up in.

"Actually," she said as she worked, "I am afraid that you are wrong about my having things to do today. The rehearsal schedules have been arranged so that part of the opera will be done today _without_ dancers, and part will be done tomorrow _with_ dancers. Your father and uncle have also expressed a wish that my girls have a little time to rest their weary legs."

"And this means what for me, exactly?" I asked as Madame continued to do her work.

"It means that you and I will be able to have a few hours of peace and quiet this afternoon," she said as she pulled my hair up into a loose bun and secured it with a few well-placed, but non-painful, pins.

"Hmm," I said, pressing my finger to my lips as though in thought. "Will tea and a good luncheon in one of our rooms be part of this alleged 'peace-and-quiet?'?" I teased while looking at her in my vanity mirror.

The small smile that Madame gave me was all the answer I needed.

* * *

Papa was not at all pleased with Madame's demand for my presence, but even he didn't want to anger the ballet mistress so close to opening night. Everyone knew that to anger Madame this close to the opening performance was to beg for disaster, so I was set free for the day while my father attempted to make friends with the de Chagnys on his own, leaving me free to have lunch and tea with Madame. 

"I honestly do not understand why you dislike Christine so much, Aria," Madame said over luncheon. "Of course, I know that you must have your reasons, but she is a good, sweet girl, and she has never done anything to you or your family. Is there something I should know about regarding my foster daughter?"

I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on my tea cup while thinking of how to best answer her question. Obviously, I couldn't tell Madame Giry that I hated Christine for what she had done to Erik, a man feared by everyone in the Opera House and possibly all of Paris. Also, Christine had the mentality of a child, and I wanted to be friends with people who were so much more than that. I wanted friends who could discuss deeper, more mature things, like books, music, and art.

"I mean no offence, Madame, when I say that the Countess does not possess an understanding of the conversation topics I wish to discuss with others," I said, keeping my tone as pleasant and polite as possible. "I am sure that she is a perfectly good person, it is simply that she has nothing to say that would catch and hold my attention for very long."

To my surprise, Madame Giry nodded as though she agreed with me. "Yes, Christine does have a rather limited view of the world," she said, taking a drink of tea. "I partially blame myself for that part of her character. I was so busy providing a life for the three of us that I did not take care of her and Meg as I should have."

She sighed and shook her head. "I was so busy trying to keep us housed, clothed, and fed that I did not see that they were not developing or becoming truly educated the way most girls were. I had hoped that growing up with a dorm full of other young women would help them, but it did not."

I gave her a sympathetic smile and reached out to touch her arm. "A dorm full of young girls is no replacement for a mother," I said, my voice soft and full of pity. "Still, you cannot blame yourself for how they are. If not for you, the three of you would have starved or been homeless. Besides, Meg and Christine are gentle, sweet young women, they just need to broaden their minds a bit and see things in different perspectives."

The two of us exchanged soft, understanding smiles and continued to our lunch. Madame told me how the dancers were coming along, who needed work, and what their costumes would be like. Our talk moved on to how well the production was going thus far, and the progress being made towards opening night. We talked for hours, and before we knew it, it was mid-afternoon, and Madame had to return to her dancers to give a surprise inspection and lesson. At that point, I politely excused myself to return to my quarters. Madame saw me to her door and bid me a kind farewell.

Walking back to my room, I decided that Madame Giry might just be the one to help me with my situation with Erik.

* * *

Giving the dancers one last lecture about hard work, Madame Giry dismissed her ballerinas for the night. She watched in satisfaction as the girls slowly headed off, too tired to do much more than eat dinner, go to their dorm, put on their nightgowns, brush their hair, and go to bed. There would be no parties or drinking this night, so hard had the dance mistress worked her charges. Tonight there would be sleep and peace in the dormitories, thank goodness. 

As Meg vanished into the dorms, Antoinette immediately headed for one particular supply room in the basement, her senses alert for anyone following her or anyone that might see her pass by. When she was sure she was not being followed, Madame reached her destination with a sense of relief, and entered, taking a seat on a crate to wait, embracing the near pitch-black darkness of the room as it closed in around her. This was the Populaire's wine cellar, and _he_ never ceased to come here after a fresh shipment had arrived, always coming in the night when everyone was asleep or too lost in their own alcohol bottles to leave their rooms.

She was right. An hour after she had settled to wait, a part of the wall slid open, and in slid a shadowed figure dressed completely in black from his cloak down to his shoes. In one hand was a small lantern, carefully shaded so that it only gave off just enough light to see by. The shadowy figure glided over to a crate and was just reaching inside for a bottle of wine when Madame noisily cleared her throat. The figure turned, and the faint light of the lantern showed the outline of a mask against the right side of his face. Looking at him, Madame wondered what it was that Aria could love in the terrifying figure of the Phantom.

'_But then, perhaps it is not my place to judge how they feel about one another_,' she thought as the Opera Ghost drifted closer to her, stopping when his face hovered mere inches above her own.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting, Madame Giry?" the Ghost asked, his voice soft, but so cold and dangerous that it sent shivers up her spine.

By now Antoinette knew it would be wise to hurry up and speak before he decided to use his Punjab noose. "I come on behalf of Mademoiselle Craven," she declared in a rushed voice.

He stopped, the angered look in his eyes turning to surprise. "Aria?" he breathed, his voice full of hope at the thought of hearing about his love. "You come here from Aria?"

"Actually, she does not know I am here," Madame confessed, praying that her next words would keep her safe a bit longer. "But I have news of her and her well-being."

The Phantom stepped back, turning the light up just the slightest bit while setting his lamp down on a crate. The light it created was not great, but was enough to show the outline of his form, including his mask. The sight again sent shivers down Madame's spine, and she had to struggle to keep herself from fleeing the room in terror.

"What news do you have of her?" he whispered, and Madame had no doubt that his green eyes were focused on her through the darkness.

"She is frustrated, sad, angry, and annoyed," Antoinette told him bluntly. "She's miserable."

"Really? Why is that, exactly?" Although she could not see the Ghost's face, she was sure that he was interested in what she had to say.

"Because she misses you," Madame replied, all the while praying that he wouldn't make poor Meg an orphan this night.

The Ghost shifted, the edges of his cloak swaying as he moved. "And how would you know she misses me, for I highly doubt that she has told you anything of significant importance."

"I know this because I have been keeping an eye on her," she truthfully replied. "Not under orders from her father, but because I-"

She didn't get to finish her sentence, for the next moment found her pinned against a stone wall dangling by the gloved hand of the Phantom. The tips of her toes pressed urgently against the floor as she frantically tried to keep herself from dying right then and there. Antoinette didn't need to look at the Ghost's face to know that he was angry.

"What do you know?" he hissed, his grip tightening slightly. "Who have you spoken of this to?"

"No one," she managed to gasp. The hand at her throat loosened so that she could speak and breathe a little easier. "I discovered your feelings for one another when you met Aria in the chapel! I heard your voice speak to her, and knew that you were the only man who could enter the chapel unseen. I also looked through the keyhole and saw you kiss her."

The hand released her, allowing her to stand on her own two feet. "If you know of my love for Aria, then why have you not told her father?" he demanded from the shadows. "I know you betrayed the way to my home to the de Chagnys, so why have you not betrayed our love as well?"

"Because I did not know I was taking your beloved from you when I sent Christine and Raoul down there!" Madame snapped impatiently. "I thought you were holding another innocent girl prisoner in your home, and that the de Chagnys were the only ones who could get her back. _That's_ why I gave them the directions, not to rob you of the only woman who could love you in spite of your…flaws."

For a moment, silence followed right before Madame spoke again. "If you will let me, I would like the chance to rectify my mistake in sending Christine and Raoul down to the caves."

"How?" Now he sounded intrigued. "What can you do that I cannot?"

She smiled at him. "Listen closely and I will tell you."

* * *

The day after my tea with Madame Giry, I found myself a prisoner once more. I refused to go out with the de Chagnys, and my punishment was to be kept in my rooms until my father came to fetch me after the rehearsals for _**Carmen**_ were over. Since that would not be until late this afternoon, I was doomed to be bored and lonely for most of the day. Of course, I would rather be stuck in my rooms than be with Christine and Raoul, which was why I was presently alone and lost in my thoughts. 

During my time alone, I had managed to deduce the reason my father wanted me to be friends with the Countess. I believed that he desired a friendship between the two of us because he wanted me to be more elegant and ladylike than the woman I had grown up to be. I'd had no true maternal figure in my life since I had been a child, and the frequent visits of my aunts and grandmother could hardly make up for the steady presence of a mother. In Christine, my father saw a beautiful, sweet, charming young woman who would make a good mother to a child, and believed that I could benefit from her in some way. However, I was a true grandchild of Caroline Craven, and had more independent, intelligent thought in one finger than Christine had in her entire body. No, a friendship with the Countess was definitely out of the question.

Lost my thoughts, I didn't notice the other presence in the room until a hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my scream. Looking out the corner of my eye, I saw Madame Giry, and relaxed, though I was still angry at her frightening me. When she saw that I wouldn't scream, she released me.

"Madame Giry!" I gasped, my hand over my chest as I tried to calm myself. "What are you-"

She pressed a finger to her lips to indicate silence, to which I quickly complied. Without saying a word, she offered me a hand, which I accepted. In an instant, she had pulled me to my feet and out the of my suite. I tried to protest, as I feared that we would be seen leaving my room, but Madame quickly looked outside my door and, after finding no sign of a watchful guard or servant, urgently tugged at my hand, indicating that I had no choice but to follow her down the hall.

We walked through a few darkened hallways, stopping occasionally to see if we were being followed, which I believed we weren't. Then, all of a sudden, she pulled me around a corner, pulled down on a certain candleholder on the wall, and hauled me through a secret door into a secret passageway. We had done this just in time, for a pair of frantic footsteps raced past where we had been in the hall.

Impressed with Madame's plan and course of action, I forgot all about resisting her and instead let her take me wherever she wanted me to go. We walked through several twists and turns until I was thoroughly lost until, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Madame halted and turned towards me, her finger again pressed to her lips for silence. I nodded and watched as she slid another door open, revealing to me the inside of an opera house box seat.

I hesitated, fearing that someone would see me entering, but when I saw that the curtains had been pulled so that the interior was blocked off from view, I relaxed, putting my fate entirely in Madame's hands. She smiled as she gently pushed me inside and slowly pulled the doorway closed, making no sound whatsoever.

Left alone in the box, I sat down and looked around. Red velvet covered practically everything, and gold paint and embroidery decorated the red in rich and elegant designs. Even the floor was covered in velvet, which explained how I did not hear the man behind me until he had covered my mouth with a gloved hand. However, the touch was gentle, meant only to silence and not harm. Startled for the second time today, I turned my head, wondering who else was part of Madame's plan.

I did not expect to see a white half-mask hovering inches away from my face. It was Erik!

* * *

AN: Cliffhanger! Evil, I know, but please review…it makes me write faster (wink, wink). Thanks! 


	25. Making One's Own Destiny

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: Sorry about the cliffhanger! It was mean, but how else can I get my readers to come back? Again, sorry about that, but please leave a review after reading! My Erik-muse and I thank you!

**Chapter 25: Making One's Own Destiny:**

He could hardly believe it. Aria was standing right there in front of him, and she looked absolutely enchanting. Now he was glad that he had done as Madame Giry had asked, and could sense that he owed the ballet mistress more than he could ever repay her. Perhaps a little financial security for her and Meg would be enough?

"Erik?" Aria whispered, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

Not bothering to speak, Erik reached out and pulled her against him in an intimate embrace. The box was sealed off from view by its velvet curtains, and the door was locked, so they would not be interrupted. Savoring the close contact, Erik buried his face in his beloved's hair and inhaled, delighting in the flowery-sweet scent of her hair soap. He made a note to buy her plenty of it later.

"Oh, God, I've missed you," she gasped as she buried herself in his arms. "I didn't think I would be able to see you again so soon!"

"Nor did I," Erik replied, smiling as Aria pressed her nose against his neck and inhaled his cologne. "Now I feel that we should try and expect the unexpected."

He certainly believed that now, especially after Madame Giry had appeared down in the Populaire's wine cellar the yesterday evening. Before seeing the ballet mistress that night, Erik had been expressing his feelings of anger and heartache the only way he knew how: pouring them out onto the keys of his organ. Sometimes he had been so deep in his misery that he did not notice how much time had passed since he had started, and when he came to his senses, Erik was always startled to see that as much as half a day would pass while he was lost in his music.

That night in the wine cellars, Erik had been surprised to see someone else down there. Usually it was a stagehand or a kitchen helper quickly and quietly purloining a bottle of good wine for themselves or to take to a party going on in one part of the Opera's wings. To his fury, it was Madame Giry, the woman who had likely started this whole new round of torment for him. He had been more than ready to kill the old woman, but when she had begun to talk about Aria, he had stopped.

Aria, he learned, was just as miserable and lonely as he was. She suffered from their loss of contact, and longed to be near him. It warmed his heart to know that she still loved him, but it also sent a cold blade through his chest every time he thought of their separation. The center of their misery was the fact that they must remain apart until one of them could devise a way to be together. Of course, the other problem was asking for her father's acceptance of their love.

However, Erik knew that Roland Craven would never give his daughter away to the masked man who haunted the Opera House. That would never happen, and even Madame Giry knew it. Madame had seen the way Aria was kept under guard, and how servants frequently came and went before the door of the young woman's room. Also, the hidden mirror doorway to the Prima Donna's room had been sealed with brick and cement, making it impossible for Erik to even look in on the woman he loved, much less sneak her away!

Erik had been at his wit's end about the whole matter, and was just about to give up and drown his sorrows in wine when he had run into Madame. It was during this meeting that Madame confessed her mistake in aiding Christine and Raoul in their mission to rescue Aria. She had honestly felt that she had been doing the right thing, aiding in the liberation of what she thought was a girl kidnapped by the Phantom and being held hostage. She now felt guilty about not asking or talking to Erik about it earlier, and, after seeing her point of view on the matter, Erik decided to let her go, though without any sort of forgiveness. That would have to come later, after he had devised a plan to get to Aria.

Thankfully, Madame had a plan that would hopefully bring the two star-crossed lovers together, as well as put her back under the good graces of the Opera Ghost.

Madame's plan was that, even though access to the Diva's suite was beyond Erik's control, it was not beyond that of the ballet mistress. Just like the Ghost, Madame Giry's actions were not questioned by anyone, and even if someone tried to follow her, another member of the Populaire's staff would stop the spy and prevent him from following Madame too far.

"This will give me the opportunity to get to Aria," Madame explained to a very skeptical Erik. "If I can get to her rooms while everyone else is away at luncheon or working on the new production, then I will be able to bring her to you wherever you are."

It was very tempting. Erik knew that Aria was miserable, and that her father was being unusually stubborn and idiotic, especially while trying to convince Aria to become friends with Christine. It was a foolish idea, wanting Aria to become as silly and naïve as the Countess, and that alone was cause enough for Erik to agree to Madame's half-baked idea of whisking Aria away right under her father's nose (not to mention the de Chagnys').

It had all been worth the risk. Pulling back from their embrace, Erik leaned down and pressed his lips to his beloved's. As Aria's arms drifted around his neck, pulling him even deeper into the kiss, Erik felt his very soul grow warm. He could not let this woman go, not for all of the music and art in the world. Aria was his everything now, and letting someone try and destroy the sweet, kind, intelligent person that she was would be a horrendous crime.

'_Why would I want a pale, fragile little angel like Christine when I could have a fiery, delightful, glowing muse like Aria_?' Erik thought, smiling into their kiss.

Why indeed would he want anything else than the woman he now held in his arms? Of course, now that she was with him, and that they were alone together, it was the perfect time to put the next part of the plan into action…a part of the plan that Madame Giry knew nothing about.

* * *

I felt an intense feeling of coldness and loss the moment Erik pulled away from our kiss. However, he didn't release me from his arms, for which I was thankful. Looking into his beautiful green eyes, I realized that I had missed the warmth his gaze brought whenever he looked at me. 

"My love," he whispered. "I am going to ask you to do something that may shock you. In fact, it goes against everything you feel for your family, and against every kind of lesson that society has taught you."

My curiosity stirred. "What is it?" I asked, my voice quiet so that no one could overhear. If Erik thought his request would alarm me, it couldn't hurt to ask what he wanted, now, could it?

I closed my eyes as Erik leaned close to me and again buried his face in my hair. "I want you to run away with me," he whispered in that wonderful, musical voice of his. "I want you to be my wife."

My breath caught in my throat. "Oh, Erik," I breathed, suddenly feeling both ecstatic and faint at the same time. "Oh, Erik, of course I'll marry you!"

Erik nearly sagged against me in relief, although thankfully, he didn't – as slight and small as I was, I wouldn't be able to hold him up if he _had_ collapsed onto me! As he pulled away and took up my left hand, I knew he had likely feared that I would refuse him, leaving him broken and alone the way Christine had. Thankfully, I was not like that, and would gladly marry the man who now slipped a beautiful engagement ring onto my left ringfinger.

"Oh, how lovely!" I gasped, holding it up to the little bit of light coming from the gas lamps on the walls of the box.

It was a diamond ring set in white gold, but the round stone was bordered by a small pearl on either side. The band was also delicately engraved with rose vines and leaves, which I thought was exquisite. This must have cost Erik a fortune, and I told him so.

"Besides, the engraving must have been so expensive, given the craftsmanship," I said, smiling in delight as the ring sparkled. How I loved sparkling things!

Erik chuckled. "The ring was expensive, but the engraving was not." To my surprise, he looked both proud and sheepish at the same time. "The first night you were gone, I'm afraid that I grew rather mad for your company, and so decided on adding a few things to the ring myself."

I held up the ring and examined it. "You did this yourself?" I asked, thoroughly amazed at his talents. "That must have taken you ages to do!"

"Several days, actually," he replied proudly. "Some of my finest work, I think."

Giggling, I stood on tip-toe and kissed him on the cheek. "I heartily agree," I whispered. "Now, about my running away with you…"

"You do not have to if you do not wish to," Erik said, his green eyes turning sad and disappointed. "I know how much your family means to you, and that you would wish for your father's permission to wed. You are free to do as you please."

"Good, because it pleases me to accept your proposal and to run away with you to the ends of the Earth," I bluntly replied with a smile.

Erik stood in silence for a moment, staring at me in surprise right before gathering me up into a passionate kiss.

* * *

'_She said yes_!' Erik cheered to himself as he kissed his fiancée. 

It was the happiest moment of his life. He would be married! Finally, he would be a husband to a woman who loved him in spite of his horrible face, a woman who was everything he had ever dreamed of. Kind, loving, clever, and who would support him in his art and opera composing, Aria was his prayers brought to life.

When their kiss ended, Aria looked up at him with eyes that sparkled, her cheeks a charming pink as she smiled up at him. Grinning like an idiot, Erik took her left hand and tucked it under his right elbow, holding it tightly for fear that she might disappear.

"Come, I have everything ready," he whispered, reaching out to the marble pillar in the corner.

Aria gasped as he slid aside a part of the wall, much as he had done in the chapel. Smirking, Erik removed Aria's hand from his arm and grasped it in his own hand. "Come, my darling, it is time to go. We have much to do this afternoon."

* * *

I followed Erik through the secret tunnels of the Opera House, going who-knows-where. I knew we were heading downwards, since we had been at one of the upper levels of the building, but that knowledge was confirmed when Erik pushed aside a section of brick wall and escorted me out into a back alley behind the Populaire. There stood a carriage, its driver and horse facing away from us so as not to see when or where we emerged. 

As we walked to the carriage, Erik pulled up the hood on his cloak before opening the door and offering me a hand inside. I accepted his gesture and entered, settling into a comfortable position as Erik took a seat across from me, his back facing the front of the carriage. I thought that he would give the driver directions to where we were to go, but Erik merely banged a fist on the roof and the vehicle moved forward.

"Erik, where are we going?" I asked, peeking through the covered window as we rode down the street.

"You will see," he replied, reaching out to take my left hand in his. "I can only hope that you will not be disappointed."

I only had time to give his hand a reassuring squeeze before the coach came to a sudden stop. Looking though the curtain covering the window, I noticed that we were at the back of a large stone building. Before I could ask where we were, however, Erik had opened the door and leaped out, his hands eagerly reaching inside for me. I put my fingers in his palms and let him lead me out, my eyes drifting upwards to see where we were.

"Oh, my," I gasped.

It was a church, and I could only think of one reason as to why we were here. I didn't have much time to think about it, though, because Erik had taken hold of my hand and was leading me inside.

* * *

Erik had never been inside a church before today, not even when he had arranged this particular event with the priest in charge of this particular sect. Instead, right after he had met Madame Giry in the wine cellar, Erik had left the Opera House and found a tiny orphan boy willing to do the tasks set to him, for the right price. Erik had then sent the boy inside the church to fetch a priest willing to meet him outside the holy building. The boy had returned with a half blind elderly man in hooded robes, a man who, for some reason, was more than willing to meet a mysterious stranger in a dark alley. 

Actually, the priest had been nothing like the strict, hardened, devout man Erik pictured a priest to be. Short, round, with a smiling face and kind hazel eyes, Brother Paul had been all too happy to accommodate Erik and his request for a private, secret wedding today. During their chat, the old man had been quite pleasant, as well as kind and understanding of a lovesick man needing to secretly wed the love of his life. For the price of a generous contribution to the orphanage managed by the church, Brother Paul was willing to perform the ceremony whenever Erik appeared at the door with his bride.

Now Erik led Aria up the steps of the church, her ringed left hand gripped tightly in his right one. The two stepped into the back entryway, looking around until a small acolyte greeted them politely and asked them their business. Erik, still wearing his hood pulled up over his masked face, explained his need to see Brother Paul. The intimidating sight of a tall hooded man sent the poor boy running off to fetch Brother Paul from his rooms, leaving the pair to themselves.

As they waited, Erik looked over to see if Aria was beginning to change her mind about this whole mad plan of his. To his relief, she appeared calm and, to his surprise, rather excited. He had not let go of her hand, so he gave it a gentle squeeze. Aria's brown eyes snapped to meet his, and Erik was thrilled to see them sparkle with love and joy at the thought of marrying him. He had thought that love had deserted him when Christine had sailed off into the distance, but it hadn't; today he was about to get married!

Nervousness began settling in. It soon began tightening his stomach into knots and making his heart leap so hard in his chest that it was as if he were going to choke on it. This, Erik knew, was the legendary "cold feet" that so many men in the Opera House had talked about right before they went off to marry their sweethearts. He was getting nervous, and was beginning to think that perhaps this might not be the best thing to do after all.

"Ah, Monsieur Renault!" cried Brother Paul as the acolyte led him to the waiting pair. "You are here! Wonderful! Let me see the lucky young lady. Do forgive me, Mademoiselle, I am afraid that I am short-sighted, and must get quite a bit closer."

Aria stood still as the monk leaned forward and began examining her, his hazel eyes looking her face over carefully. "Well, you certainly are a lovely young girl," declared Brother Paul with a grin. The acolyte made a noise in his throat. "Oh, hush, Jean, I am not going to marry the girl myself! I am merely stating that Monsieur Renault is marrying a perfectly lovely young woman. Now get back to your lessons before Brother Andre adds more books to your study load."

The boy scurried off, leaving the three adults to chuckle in amusement. Aria reached out and touched the priest on the arm. "I can't thank you enough for doing this," she said in a soft voice. "My father would likely never approve of this match, and I know that this is the only way I can truly be with the man I love."

"Oh, don't be silly, my dear girl!" Brother Paul exclaimed in a cheerful voice. "You'd be surprised at how many marriages I do for 'star-crossed, forbidden lovers.' I prefer to do those ceremonies, actually. I'm more than happy to perform your ceremony for you."

Looking from one to the other, Brother Paul smiled warmly and gestured towards the chapel. "Now, shall we? It is getting late, and at my age, I cannot afford to let the stuffed goose supper they are preparing in the kitchens tonight grow cold."

Chuckling, Erik and his fiancée trailed behind the merry priest. In moments, the two were before the altar, and Aria had a bouquet of flowers in her hands, freshly plucked from the gardens of the church. The ceremony that followed was short and simple, but neither Erik nor Aria wanted it any other way.

* * *

It had been hours since she had taken Aria Craven to Box 5, and now Madame Giry was going to fetch her. Between the two of them, Aria and the Ghost should have developed a way to tell her father of their love, and if not, Antoinette was perfectly willing to bring Aria to wherever the Phantom wanted to meet her in the future. 

'_Provided that it's not anywhere near his home_,' she thought as she made her way down the hallway.

Thankfully, the halls were empty, as everyone was at supper in the Opera's eatery. All of the workers would be eating their fill of whatever the cooks had thrown together for tonight, and afterwards, most of the young men and women would go to a party of some sort being held by one of their friends. Meanwhile, the older folk would retire to their rooms to drink, gamble, read, or simply to sleep until dawn came the next day. Sleep was Madame's usual choice, and she planned to enjoy every minute of it as soon as she fetched Aria from the infamous Box 5.

Arriving at the box, Madame gave a quick knock, praying that they would hear and answer. Nothing. Perhaps they did not hear? Knocking again, this time louder and swifter, Madame waited for a response. Still nothing. Growing more and more concerned, Madame reached for the master key that she and few others possessed, the Ghost being one of them. Unlocking the door, Madame reached inside and turned up the gas lights to illuminate the room. What she saw nearly stopped her heart.

No one was there.

'_Perhaps she went back to her room_,' Antoinette thought, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

Yes, that was it. Perhaps Aria and her lover had worked out a plan and the Ghost had returned the young woman to her rooms earlier. If that was the case, it would certainly be alright for the hungry ballet mistress to go to supper now without having to check up on Aria.

However, something didn't seem right, so Madame decided to put off her growling stomach for a bit longer in order to check on Mademoiselle Craven. She quickly walked through the empty Opera halls until she reached the Prima Donna's rooms, furiously knocking on the door when she got there. No one answered, and that made her even more nervous than before.

Deciding not to wait any longer, Madame pushed open the door and looked inside. The fire had burned out, the candles were new and had not been lit, and the room was cold. It looked as though Aria had not been here since she had been whisked away earlier that day. This was enough to cause Madame to go into a panic. If Aria had not come back, then the Ghost had taken her. Antoinette had been wrong to trust the Phantom to act honorably, and now Roland Craven would probably send an army to hunt down the masked man and kill him to get his daughter back.

Whirling around, Madame stepped out into the hall in order to try and think of a plan to get Aria back without anyone the wiser. However, it was not to be.

"Madame Giry!" cried a voice down the hallway. It was Roland Craven, and he looked terrified. "Madame, have you seen Aria? No one has seen her since this morning, and I've looked everywhere for her. I've been searching for hours, and haven't found her yet."

Well, at least she wouldn't have to lie to the man, just cover up her tracks. "No, sir, I'm afraid that I haven't seen her. Perhaps she went out into Paris for the day? The sun is up longer, since its spring."

This was technically true: Madame hadn't seen Aria, at least since before noon. However, she wasn't about to help her father send an army down to kill the man that Aria loved more than life itself! When all was quiet, Antoinette would go and try to talk some sense into Erik's head before something horrible happened to him or Aria.

As Roland Craven thanked her for her help and left, Madame went on her own quest for answers in regards to the whereabouts of Aria Craven and the Opera Ghost.

* * *

AN: Erik and Aria got married! More in the next chapter, I promise. Please review! 


	26. The Truth Can Hurt or Set You Free

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Okay, I'm sorry to say that this story is almost over. It's a shock, I know, but it really is nearing the end. There's just a couple more chapters and an epilogue, and then that's it. However, there will be another story posted after this one is done, and I hope that people will check it out once it's posted. Thanks, and please review!

**Chapter 26: Truth Can Hurt or Set You Free:**

"What do you mean she's gone?" cried Raoul de Chagny as he leapt from his chair. "I thought you had people watching her every move. How could she be gone?"

"Raoul, please," Christine said, her delicate fingers gripping his coat in an attempt to get him to sit back down. "You are not helping anything by yelling at Monsieur Craven. Please, sit down and calm yourself before you do something rash."

The three of them were seated in the managers' offices, the de Chagnys occupying the two chairs across the desk from where Roland Craven sat. The older man had contacted the couple after hours of searching for his daughter, who was once again missing from her rooms.

Evidently, no one had seen Aria Craven since her lunch had been taken to her quarters. The maid had later returned to retrieve the tray, only to find the place empty, the meal dishes cleaned of their contents, stacked and waiting. The maid had shrugged it off, thinking that her mistress had simply gone out for a walk through the Opera House for exercise. She had dismissed any ideas of wrongdoing, and had gone back to her duties without concern. When she later returned with a tea tray, however, she was surprised to find the room _still_ empty, the fireplace gone cold, and the candles burned down significantly without any indication of having been replaced.

At that point, the serving maid had become worried and gone off to inform Monsieur Craven that his daughter was not in her rooms, and that she probably hadn't been there for hours. Alarmed, Roland had ordered the maid to gather the stagehands to search the Populaire for any sign of Aria. The men were soon gathered and dispatched to search every room they could for clues. Even the ballet dancers joined in the fray, but despite their efforts, no one could find a trace of Aria.

After hours of wasted effort, Roland began to think that perhaps he should try a different approach. Deciding to see if anyone had actually _seen_ Aria at any point in time during the day, Roland began calling employees into his office in groups of five or six. This particular strategy managed to produce results, though not very much. Some news came while questioning the afternoon cleaning crew. One boy mentioned seeing two women walking through the Opera House after lunch, but couldn't see who they were. The boy had followed them, but had lost their trail in one of the many unlit hallways.

Roland had let the boy go, but quickly sent an urgent message to the de Chagny estate, pleading for the Count and Countess to come to the Opera House at once. Within an hour, Raoul and Christine were in his office, their eyes full of concern and alarm as they took their seats. Once he had settled into his chair, Raoul cut straight to the heart of the matter, asking what was wrong. The response was not what they wanted to hear, thus the Count's displeased reaction.

"It is as I said, Monsieur," Roland replied, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Aria is gone, and I have no idea how it happened."

"Did you seal up the passageway in her room?" Christine asked, before Raoul could.

"Yes, yes, I did that," Roland said, waving his hand absently in their direction. "I also tried to keep people watching over her front door, but it was not as effective as I'd hoped."

Christine sighed. "Monsieur, I hate to criticize you, but even I know that having any Opera House workers perform watch duty would be a bad idea. They tend to get bored very quickly, and before too long, they go back to their duties, especially when there's a performance opening soon."

Roland shook his head. "I realize that now. I should have changed tactics and hired armed men to stand at her door, but with the opening night of _**Carmen**_ approaching, I didn't have the time or energy to do it." He sighed. "Now I wish I had."

Giving him a comforting smile, Christine reached over and placed a firm hand on Raoul's arm, keeping him firmly in his seat. "It is not your fault," she softly replied. "You did not know that this could happen again."

"We all assumed that the Ghost wouldn't risk taking Aria a second time, especially when the secret doorway into her rooms had been sealed," Raoul said, attempting to be composed and civil. "But now Christine and I must go and fetch her back before it is too late."

When the Count and his wife stood, Roland rose from his chair as well. "I'm going, too," he declared. "I want to face the monster that has twice taken my daughter. Let me arm myself, and then we will go together. Besides, I imagine that you could use some help."

* * *

Stomping her way through the caverns, Madame Antoinette Giry was trembling with fury, betrayal, and fear. She was angry that Erik had done this to her, but knew that she should have seen this coming. He was, after all, the Opera Ghost and the Phantom of the Opera, and he would have his own way when it came to making himself feel happy and loved. Plus, after sending the de Chagnys down to his home, Antoinette felt she deserved the sting of betrayal. 

Fear, however, was quickly drowning out the anger and hurt. As she approached the special hidden door that led into the Phantom's lair, she silently prayed that she would survive this encounter with the Ghost. In the back of her mind, Antoinette hoped that neither he nor Aria had done anything stupid in the hours since she had left the young woman alone in Box 5 with her masked lover. Swinging the door open on silent hidden hinges, Madame stepped into the lair and listened.

The sound of a feminine giggle reached her ears, and she could hear it coming from the bedroom. Hiding herself in the cover of an open doorway, Madame looked out of the hallway she was in and peered into the main part of the cave. Out of the Phoenix bedroom flew Aria Craven, dressed in a filmy nightgown and robe, quickly followed by her love, the Opera Ghost.

'_No, not the Ghost. I really should call him Erik_,' Madame thought to herself as she watched them run through the cave in a game of chase. '_He no longer looks like the lonely soul he once was_.'

The man before her was not the Ghost, but was, in fact, a man. Running around the cave in loose pants, black slipper-shoes, and a green velvet robe tied tightly around him was a content, happy man chasing the woman he loved. Madame watched as he caught Aria up in his arms, causing her to squeal and giggle as she was whirled around the room. It was so sweet and so endearing that Madame couldn't help but chuckle out loud.

Upon hearing the sound of her voice, the couple stopped in their tracks, Erik putting down his beloved to turn and face the intruder. "Who's there?" he demanded, green eyes scanning the cave.

Seeing as she was caught, Madame decided to reveal herself. "It is I," she replied, stepping out of the shadows. "I came to see if Aria was here, and I see that she is."

Erik drew himself up to his fullest height, green eyes looking down upon her with hard determination. "You cannot take her from me," he declared. "She is mine, do you understand? She is my wife."

Madame stood there in shock. Aria was his _wife_? She had married Erik, the Opera Ghost and Phantom of the Opera, the man responsible for so much terror, pain, and fear? Looking at the two, Antoinette's eyes landed on their left hands and saw the glimmer of gold wedding bands. Yes, they were married, and they were happy to be with one another, so who was she to interfere with such wedded bliss? Besides, after so much suffering on both parts, they deserved it, didn't they?

Smiling her support and joy for the two of them, Madame strode forward and hugged the newlyweds.

* * *

Sighing contentedly, I leaned further into Erik's embrace, his arms tightening their hold on me in order to pull me closer. We had just finished a delicious supper of a roasted chicken and fresh bread that Madame Giry had gone and purchased for us in the city, as well as a small vanilla cake decorated with tiny roses made of frosting. As was tradition, Erik and I each fed one another a piece of the cake before sharing a kiss in front of Madame Giry, who was playing the mothering role by serving us supper, cleaning up afterwards, and then leaving the two of us alone for the rest of the evening. 

With our stomachs full and our hearts content, Erik had led me to the couch in the music room. There, he laid himself down and held his arms out to me, silently asking me to join him. Smiling, I happily did so, my head resting on his shoulder as we savored the blissful aura that surrounded us like a warm, silken blanket. Erik's hands rested on my head and back while mine were gently placed upon his chest; beneath my fingertips and my cheek, I could feel and hear the soothing rhythm of his heart beat.

"I must be dead," Erik muttered into my ear.

"Why would you say that?" I whispered back, my eyes drifting up to meet his.

He sighed and smiled. "Because I am married to an angel, one who has saved me from the darkness of my soul," he replied, his voice soft and gentle as he began to caress my back with his fingertips. "You saved me from my solitude and the creature of madness that I had slowly been turning into. You are my Angel of Salvation."

"Oh, Erik," I whispered, tilting my head to press my lips to his.

When our kiss broke, I put my head back on his chest and sighed contentedly, relishing the fact that I was Erik's wife. '_Madame Renault_,' I thought to myself with a smile as I looked at my left hand. There was my diamond engagement ring, sparkling in the flickering light coming from the candles along the walls. '_I am Madame Aria Renault, and my husband is the Phantom of the Opera_.'

Then again, perhaps he was the Phantom no longer. Erik was a changed man now that he was no longer alone and despised by all of Paris. He had me to stand beside him and to love him, so perhaps he would stop being the Opera Ghost and simply become Erik Renault: composer, artist, and husband.

"Aria!" cried a voice through the darkness.

Erik and I both startled together, looking at one another in shock and confusion. "Who could that be?" I wondered aloud, glancing around the room.

"The question should actually be: _where_ are they," Erik muttered, glaring at the wall of the cave. "Although I'm sure I can guess…"

One entrance into Erik's was actually like the mirror doorway in the Prima Donna chambers: a mirror on one side, a passageway on the other. As we listened closely, we heard the voice getting louder and more urgent as they called my name. There was also the sound of hurried footsteps, and I knew that there could be only three people, besides Madame Giry, who would be coming in search of me.

"It's Christine and Raoul, and they have my father with them," I whispered, getting up off of Erik and sitting straight up on the couch.

"They cannot take you," Erik declared as he gracefully leaped to his feet, eyes darkening as he glared at the mirror doorway.

I did not get the chance to respond, because at that moment, the mirror slid open and there stood the Count and Countess de Chagny, my father right behind them. As soon as they saw me sitting on the couch behind Erik, their eyes widened in shock and horror. I then realized that the two of us were immodestly dressed: I still in my nightgown and dressing robe, and Erik in his green evening robe.

'_Oh, dear_,' I thought, right before the dam burst.

* * *

It was worse than he had thought. His daughter, Aria, scandalously dressed in nothing but a nightgown and robe, sitting on a couch behind a barely dressed Opera Ghost. Oh, it could only mean one thing, and that meant that she had been taken advantage of. 

"Aria!" Roland cried. "Oh, God, what has he done to you?"

"You insane monster," hissed Raoul as he reached for his sword. "You've ruined her for any future marriages! Do you have any idea what you've done to her?"

"How could you do this?" Christine asked, sounding as though she were about to be ill. "How could you do this to an innocent woman?"

Roland watched as the Ghost moved to step forward, his body tense with anger as his hands clutched into fists. Bracing himself, Roland reached for his sword, ready to defend himself and his daughter should he have to.

"Erik, no!" cried Aria, her hands reaching out to stop the masked man from advancing. "Erik, please don't do this, don't do anything you'll only regret later."

To his utter shock, the Ghost hesitated, turning to look at Aria with what looked like affection in his eyes. "I will stop if you ask me to," replied the masked man. "But I will do whatever it takes to keep you here with me, my love."

Inside his chest, Roland could feel his heart turn cold. His love? Did the Ghost just call Aria his _love_? Oh, God, the Phantom was in love with his daughter! No wonder he wanted Aria back so badly that he was willing to kidnap her a second time.

"Papa," Aria said, her brown eyes meeting his blue-grey ones. "Papa, you cannot take me away from Erik. You no longer have the power to do so."

"What?" Roland cried. "I have every right to take you home! I am your father, and you will do what I tell you!" He paused. "And since when do you call him _Erik_?"

"I call him that because it is his name," Aria calmed replied as she stepped up beside her masked captor. "And no, Papa, I don't have to do what you say anymore. I am no longer Aria Craven. I am Madame Aria Renault, and I am Erik's wife."

* * *

I could see the shock in my father's eyes as I revealed my new marriage to him. Beside me, Erik slid his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him as we watched the de Chagnys gape in disgust and horror at my revelation to them. 

"You cannot be serious, Aria," Papa whispered, his voice strained. "You cannot love this…this man!"

Biting back an annoyed sigh, I instead gave him a reassuring smile. "I do love him, Papa," I said, putting my arms around Erik's slim waist. "I know that he is not what you wanted for me, but during the months I was down here, Erik was kind, gentle, sweet, and a perfect gentleman. He courted me as any other man would by giving me gifts and treating me as though I were the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Which you are," Erik whispered affectionately, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Then he has lied to you and played you for a fool," Raoul declared angrily. "Has he told you of the murders he has committed, of the crimes of extortion and theft that he has performed over the years?"

"Has he not mentioned kidnapping me five years ago?" Christine pressed, sounding slightly hysterical. "I, too, was brought down here to be his wife, a prisoner in his dark circle of nightmare and fear."

I shook my head. "Erik took you because he was desperate for love," I said with pity in my voice. "I am sorry for all that you suffered five years ago, Countess, but what I experienced down here was, and still is, quite different from what you did. I do not fear Erik, because I understand that everything he has endured in his life due to his deformity."

Raoul snorted in contempt. "And what, may I ask, do you _understand_?" he retorted, his voice arrogant and full of superiority.

I looked the man straight in the eyes, showing that I was not afraid of him and that I despised him. "I understand that Fops like you and your empty-headed wife could not see past his mask and look straight into his soul," I growled. "It is because of such arrogant, superficial, conceded men and women that caused _my husband_ to hide in the shadows in fear for his life, making him hate himself and the world around him because of one tiny flaw, a flaw that could easily be overlooked if people could see what a great and brilliant man that he is!"

I took a deep breath. "I, however, saw past his face. I saw the talented composer and artist that he is, and the great and respected man that he could be if he wanted to. He has been nothing but good to me, for I have been nothing but good to him." I glared at Christine. "No offense, Countess, but did you ever have the sense and decency to ask what his name was, or if he had one at all? Did you ever try to see the world as he did and feel pity for him?"

The shameful look she got in her eyes was answer enough. She had been eighteen at the time, and should have had the decency to ask her mentor his name when he first showed himself and his home to her. Instead, she had ripped off his mask, something that was a part of him and which had shielded him from the world; it was no wonder Erik had be infuriated to the point of madness by what she did.

But Raoul wasn't giving up yet. "What about the murders, the crimes he's committed? Can you forgive him those?"

"Yes, I can," I calmly replied. "Society forced him to take desperate measure to secure an income and a safe place to call his home. The foolish, selfish, twistedly-curious actions of mankind forced Erik to defend and protect himself from the world. If there is someone to blame, it would be the ones who has treated him so poorly throughout his life."

My father sighed. "You are right, Aria," he muttered, his voice resigned. "Humanity has not been kind to this man, and it is obvious that you have seen something to him that others have not." Papa then turned and looked over at his new son-in-law. "Although it is a bit late for this, I give you permission to wed my daughter, and I wish the two of you many years of happiness in your future."

"Thank you, Father," I whispered as Erik pulled me against his chest.

"You cannot be serious!" roared the Count. "This man is madness itself! You cannot let her stay with him as his wife!"

"I have no choice, Monsieur de Chagny," Papa told him. "She is obviously married, and if Aria had had any say in the matter, which I'm sure she did, she would have done it in a proper church with a priest and signed documents." He turned towards me. "You _do_ have documents, don't you?"

"Yes, Papa, they are over there on the desk," I said. "If you wish to confirm it with the priest, though, we would be happy to provide you with his name and location."

"No, but if I could see the marriage certificates, it would greatly settle my mind," Papa replied as he walked to the desk.

"You are all mad!" Christine cried out. "The only way you could all agree to his whims is if you were all as insane as he is!"

"I agree," ground out her husband. "Let us get out of here and leave these mad folk to themselves and pray that it is not contagious."

Raoul then grabbed his wife by the hand and stalked back up the passage way, dragging his babbling wife behind him. Papa, who had been reading over the marriage papers, turned and looked over at us.

"Well, I don't suppose we'll be hearing from them again, do you?"

"Let's hope not," Erik muttered, holding me close.

* * *

Hours later, Papa had been escorted up to the Populaire by Erik so that he could work on the production of _**Carmen**_. Opening night was tomorrow, and Erik and I had both promised to be there watching from Box 5. Now, though, Erik and I were curled up in our bed shaped like a bird. 

'_I rather like the thought of this being our bed instead of just mine_,' I thought while drifting off to sleep, Erik's strong arm wrapped around my waist. '_I can't think of a better place to fall asleep at night and wake in the morning for the rest of my life_.'

As though he could hear my thoughts, Erik muttered what sounded like an agreement.

* * *

AN: Please leave a review! Thanks! 


	27. The Ghost's New Family

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: This story is soon coming to a close. I'd give it one more chapter, then an epilogue, and that will be it in the story of Erik and Aria. But have no fear, dear readers, for there will be another _**Phantom**_ story coming up! For more info on this, see my bio page. Thanks, and please review!

**Chapter 27: The Ghost's New Family:**

The next morning, I woke to the delicious smells of sausages, fried potatoes, and fresh fruit. Opening my eyes, I spotted Erik sitting on the edge of the bed, his beautiful eyes gazing down at me with such love and joy that I nearly wept. He looked so happy.

"Good morning," he whispered, leaning down to kiss me.

I happily accepted the kiss, his lips lingering on mine until he pulled away a few moments later. Once we were separated, I watched as Erik produced a breakfast tray and placed it on my lap, acting as though he were performing a show or ceremony for my amusement.

"It looks delicious," I said while reaching for my fork and knife.

Erik gently reached out and grasped my hands in his. "No, darling, let me feed you."

I released the silver eating utensils and leaned back onto the pillows, allowing Erik to slowly feed me my breakfast. This left me feeling rather spoiled, however, and I made a note to myself to not let him do this too often, especially since I wanted a turn at feeding _him_ in the future! For now, however, I would savor the moment, as well as enjoy the heated looks that Erik was giving me as I delicately ate off of the fork in his hand. When breakfast was over, Erik whisked the tray away to clean the dishes and I was left to dress. Today I would have to choose something very special, as we were to be visiting my father and uncle.

Last night, while Papa had been escorted upstairs, I had decided that it would be best for Erik to make an effort to try and win my father and uncle's approval. Papa, I knew, would do his best to accept Erik, but Uncle Gregory might be a different matter all together. Still, we would have to try, and if we managed to persuade them to accept Erik, then hopefully there would not be any tension between us. So, just before bed, I had written a note and put it in an open envelope on the bedside table, bearing my father's name on the front. Since it was no longer there, I suspected that Erik had read it before delivering it to the managers' office while I was still asleep.

As I opened the large wardrobe, my jaw dropped at the sight that greeted me. There were more than a dozen dresses hanging there, and I realized that Erik must have been planning for me to stay with him while I was still a guest in his house. The selection of colors and materials was surprising enough, but when I pulled out a dress, I was even more shocked. It was made of satin, and was a mixture of shimmering peacock blues-and-greens, blending together beautifully. Glittering gold buttons held the cuffs closed, and could be buttoned down the front so that I would not need help. Not only that, but it was cut in my size, without the torture of a corset that would have to be laced, tightened, and tied from behind. Erik had apparently thought of _everything_ when it came to providing for my living with him, and that only made me love him even more.

Once I was dressed, I went out to meet Erik, who was standing in the music room, fully dressed in his best outfit. I stopped and admired his clothing, which was stylishly formal and elegant. He wore his usual black coat, pants, shoes, and cloak, but his shirt was a brilliant white, and his vest was a deep green that matched his eyes perfectly. To my surprise, he was unmasked, and there was a look of uncertainty on his face as he looked at me. Puzzled, I looked at his expression until Erik lifted up his black gloved hands, each one bearing a mask. His right hand held his usual white mask, but his left had a black mask that looked like it would cover the upper half of his face.

"I cannot decide which would be better to face your family in," he muttered as I approached.

Smiling, I reached out and took both masks from him. "Well, I want you to be comfortable with what you are wearing," I said, looking at first the white mask before glancing at the black. "Which one fits you better or is better for your skin?"

The chaffing skin on Erik's face had healed itself a great deal since I had first arrived. The lotion I had put on him during my stay had reduced the puffiness of the skin, and the redness had faded dramatically. There would always be a bit of red or swollen skin, since it was part of his birth defect, but it no longer looked as bad as it once did. Even with his misshapen right eye and the slightly bumpy skin around it, I felt that Erik looked almost as though he'd suffered injuries in a bad fight or fire, nothing more.

'_Of course, I probably see him that way because I love him_,' I thought while watching Erik consider each mask. '_After all, love is blind, and I cannot see Erik's face the way he or anyone else does, so perhaps it is best for him to deal with it in his own way_, _leaving me to calm or comfort him if need be_.'

"They have learned to fear me in my white mask, but the black, I think, makes me appear darker and more sinister," Erik deduced, his eyes thoughtful as he considered his choices.

I could hear the conflict and sadness in his voice, and it broke my heart. He had suffered so much already, and now he was forcing himself to walk through hell once more by visiting my father and uncle. I wanted Erik to be comfortable and confident on this visit, and let him know it.

"Erik, please, choose whichever one is the most comfortable for you to wear," I said with a smile.

He sighed and reached for the black mask. "It is velvet-lined, and will be much more pleasant on my face," he said while slipping it on.

Walking up to him, I put my fingers on the outer edge of the black material and helped settle it into place. "You know that if it were up to me, you would never wear that thing at all," I told him, going on tiptoe to give him a small kiss on the lips. "There, all ready. And might I add that you look very handsome today?"

He blushed and cleared his throat. "Shall we?" he asked, presenting his right arm to me.

Accepting his arm, I followed my husband out of our home and up towards the Opera House.

* * *

Roland paced the length of his office once more, his eyes going to the clock on the wall every minute or so. Seated on the couch was a smirking Gregory, who was enjoying a nice glass of brandy while he waited for his niece and new nephew-in-law. 

"I still can't believe how calm you are," Roland muttered to his brother. "Actually, I'm surprised you've notice anything beyond putting that bloody opera on tonight!"

Gregory sighed and put his glass on the small table beside him. "Roland, my dear brother, I will have you know that I have been keeping track of this whole thing since the moment the Count and Countess de Chagny brought Aria back to us," he said with a roll of his eyes.

The startled blue-grey of his brother's eyes turned to look at him. "What do you mean?" Roland demanded. "You've been so focused on producing _**Carmen**_ that you've barely left our work quarters or your rooms since Aria got back! How the hell would you know what's been going on?"

"Really, Roland, you should know that everyone in this Opera House practically lives on gossip," Gregory replied with a grin. Picking up his glass once more, Gregory leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs in a relaxed manner that probably frustrated his brother to no end. "I merely used the tools that were at hand to get information whenever I needed it. Mother taught me that, and I'm surprised that you didn't do the same thing. Thanks to those ballet rats, the chorus, and the cleaning crew, I had a steady flow of information coming to me throughout the day."

Gregory took a small sip from his glass. "_That_ is how I knew of your stupid attempts at trying to get Aria to become friends with the Countess. Might I add that Christine de Chagny is a foolish young woman with a head full of fluff underneath those curls of hers? I really don't know what possessed you to fancy the Countess as a good friend for our dear girl. When I realized what you were trying to do, I immediately stopped trusting you when it came to Aria's happiness."

Roland sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I just wanted a good role model in her life," he explained. "Someone who was a lady and could help Aria find other friends here in Paris. Christine might have even been able to find a decent husband for Aria, if she'd been given a chance."

Gregory burst into laughter. "And you thought that a foolish, naïve young woman like Christine would be a friend to Aria? After all of the strong, independent ideas and thoughts that Mother has been feeding to her throughout the years? Honestly, Roland! What were you thinking, trying to have a meek, weak-willed, fragile thing like Christine as a friend for Aria?"

"I just wanted what was best for her!" Roland snapped, his hands clenching into fists. "I thought that with friends like the de Chagnys, Aria would be quickly introduced into society and make connections, perhaps even find a husband when she couldn't do so in London!"

Gregory merely shook his head. "Well, she's married now, though it's to a man we've never really been introduced to, at least formally," he said in a soothing voice. "And if Aria has indeed wedded this man out of love, as well as found happiness with him, then he cannot be that bad, now, can he?"

Roland sighed and poured himself a glass of brandy before collapsing into a nearby chair. "Yes, Aria wouldn't marry someone unless she loved, trusted, and had faith in a man," he replied before taking a gulp from his glass. "I wish it were anyone but the Opera Ghost, but as long as she's happy, then who am I to stand in her way?"

"Good man," Gregory said with a smile. "Now, finish that drink; you're going to need your nerves settled before they get here!"

His brother merely glared at him before taking another drink from his glass.

* * *

I wanted to go in through the front doors of the office, but Erik insisted on using the secret passageways through the walls. He thought it would cause panic among the workers if they saw him walking through the hallway, and he did not want to risk the opening night being ruined by shaky or overly-fearful people. Understanding his point, I followed him to the wall of my father and uncle's office and knocked. 

Peeking through the spyhole in the wall, I saw my father and Uncle Gregory start in their seats, practically spilling their brandy all over themselves as they attempted to get to their feet. Uncle managed to stand and straighten himself out first, so he was the one who went to open the door. Pausing before it, I saw him realize that the knock hadn't come from that direction, but instead came from _behind_ him. Frowning, he turned and looked in our direction.

"Aria, is that you?" he said, the small grin tugging at his lips belying the sternness of his voice.

Giggling, I motioned for Erik to open the door and slipped inside when the opening was big enough. Uncle Gregory put down his glass and opened his arms to me. I happily ran to his arms in order to give him a warm hug, which he returned just as warmly.

"Welcome back, Madame," Uncle said, his voice soft as he spoke into my ear.

I pulled back. "Thank you, Uncle," I replied with a smile. "May I introduce you to my husband, Erik Renault?"

Turning around, I reached out for Erik's hand, a shiver of joy and pleasure going down my back as one of his gloved hands took mine in a firm, but gentle, grasp. I looked up into his eyes and gave him a supporting smile and a comforting squeeze with my hand, which seemed to reassure him. I heard Papa rise from his chair and approach us, clearing his throat.

"Welcome, Erik," Papa said. "Will you sit and take a glass of something to drink?"

Erik stiffened slightly, and I could see that he could not tell if Papa was being sincere in his offer or not. I gave him another smile, which seemed to convince him of my father's hospitality.

"Yes, thank you," my husband slowly replied in a soft voice. "I would like a glass of wine, if you have it. I am afraid that anything stronger does not sit well with me."

Papa nodded and went to the alcohol cabinet, pulling out one bottle of wine after another, discarding several before selecting one that he thought would suit us best. As Erik and I sat down together on the couch, Papa uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses of the red liquid. I smiled. He obviously remembered that I only drank sweet red wine, and would not have poured two glasses if it wasn't the sort I liked.

After Erik and I had accepted our glasses, there was a small stream of awkward chatter, mostly about the upcoming opening night of _**Carmen**_. Papa and Uncle kept offering details and insights into the production that I'm sure Erik already knew about, given how he always watched a production's progress. Thankfully, my husband merely sat there, listening politely and occasionally offering a comment or opinion whenever Papa or Uncle seemed to be waiting for one.

Finally, that line of conversation ran dry, and I could see the questions burning behind my father and uncle's eyes. They wanted to know more about Erik, to see what kind of man he was and if he was a good one. I knew that they trusted my judgment, but they wanted to be sure, nonetheless. I cleared my throat and looked over at Erik; he knew what that look meant, and would answer any questions put to him, even if they made him uncomfortable. He wanted a good relationship of trust with my family, and would be honest with them, if only for my sake.

"So, Erik," Uncle Gregory started while sipping his brandy. "Tell me, how did you become the Opera Ghost that is so well-known?"

I squeezed Erik's hand as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Then, taking a deep breath, he began the tale of his life.

* * *

Whatever sort of tale he had been expecting, this was not it. Roland listened to Erik's story with a sense of sadness that nearly broke him in two. He could not imagine his mother not loving him or his brother for any reason; she had always been so good and forgiving of them, and he knew that even if he or Gregory had been born with a deformity, their mother would have still kept them with her. 

'_How could a mother sell her son to the gypsies like that_?' he thought as Erik continued his story. '_I know that I would never have done such a thing if Aria had been born with a misshapen face or a club foot. How could Erik's mother have done that to him while he was still a young child_?'

Roland now understood how Erik Renault had evolved into the dreaded Phantom of the Opera, a man feeding on the fear of others in order to feel powerful and to feel confident in himself. No one had ever loved him; instead, they had spat on him, beat him, and tortured him, all of which had occurred _after_ he had been sold into slavery and put on display as a creature in a cage.

Before, Roland had thought that Aria's sympathy of Erik's actions had been made out of her desperate need to have her love and marriage accepted by her family. He knew differently, now. Erik had acted the way he had for a reason, and he could not be faulted for that. Even his actions towards Christine and Raoul could be seen as a man's desperate attempts to feel loved and accepted by someone.

Sipping his drink, Roland threw his brother a discreet look, which was quickly returned while Erik finished his tale about his life. Gregory, too, had sympathy for the new addition to their family, and was willing to accept Erik for who he was. Besides, Erik was a good man, and apparently an affectionate one; Roland couldn't help but notice how Erik's hands kept a hold of Aria's, their fingers entwined or caressing each other's while he talked.

'_He does love her_,' Roland thought with a touch of sadness. '_Well, at least I lost my little girl to a man who can care for her as she deserves_.'

It should have been a comforting thought, but for some reason, that only made Roland Craven's heart ache. Even though he knew that Aria would always love him, Roland could see that he had lost his daughter, in more ways than one.

* * *

I held Erik's hand until his story came to an end. When it did, I watched as his shoulders sagged, as though relieved that a huge burden had been removed from him. Behind us, a small desk clock struck the noon hour, and I knew that lunch would be served soon; Erik and I would have to leave before the servants arrived to see if my father and uncle wanted their noon meal here in their office or elsewhere. 

Papa cleared his throat. "I can see how you became the way you are now, Erik," he said before finishing off his brandy. "I had not considered the story behind the man who was the Phantom, and you have given me much to think about. I thank you for that."

"We also know that you will take good care of Aria," Uncle Gregory continued while setting aside his empty glass. "It is clear to us that you love her dearly, but we are hoping that you will be able to provide for her as a husband should."

Erik frowned just a little. "I can assure you that I have a great deal of money," he said, keeping his voice soft. "I can easily give Aria anything her heart desires, should she ask it of me."

Papa nodded. "That is all I ask. Love her, provide a good home for her, and keep her safe. As long as you do that, I have no further objections to your marriage."

I smiled and rose from my seat on the couch. Papa also rose from his chair, his arms reaching out to embrace me in a warm hug. For a moment, I was transported to my childhood, back to the point when Papa and I had first discussed my getting married. In all of wisdom I'd had at the age of a twelve-year-old, I had sworn to my father that I would be with him always, that I would never marry and leave him as my mother had. I had broken that promise, but knew that Papa had forgiven me. He would always love me, and would support me in this choice I had made.

We separated without a word, though I felt the soft brush of Papa's lips on my forehead as he pulled away. Erik put his arms around my waist, and when I looked up at him, I saw him give my father a respectful nod of the head, which Papa returned. They understood each other now: Papa saw Erik's need for love and acceptance, and Erik seeing Papa's desire to protect me from harm. A sort of truce had been made today, and I sincerely hoped that it would last long enough for the two of them to grow fond of one another.

"We must go," Erik declared, his voice soft as he turned his head towards the hidden door. "The servants will be here soon to inquire about your noon meals, and Aria and I must prepare for the opening performance of _**Carmen**_ tonight."

Uncle Gregory also rose from his chair. "We will keep Box 5 open for you," he said with a smile. "Would it be possible for you to have lunch with us tomorrow? I would like your opinion on how the performance went."

Erik nodded. "It would be a pleasure," he replied with a bow. "Come, my angel, we have much to do before tonight."

I gave my father and uncle a kiss. "I will see the two of you tomorrow," I said while accepting Erik's arm. Giving them one last smile, I followed Erik back towards our home on the lake.

* * *

Pulling off his cravat, Erik let out a sigh of relief. The performance of _**Carmen**_ had been absolutely stunning, with all of the performers hitting their marks in their work. The dancers were in step, the singers on key, and the stagehands had been on the spot at changing backdrops and setting up the stage with props in between scenes. In all his time at the Populaire, Erik had seen very few managers pull off a successful opening night, and he was strangely delighted that his new uncle- and father-in-law were one of those few. For once, Erik felt that his Opera House was in good, capable hands. 

"Erik, I've been thinking," Aria was saying as she slipped into her nightgown. Erik raised an eyebrow, but continued to listen as they dressed for bed. "I've been thinking that I would like to introduce you to my family."

Erik looked at her in confusion. "But you already introduced me to your family," he said.

Aria shook her head and laughed. "No, silly, I want to introduce you to the _rest_ of my family. I have many aunts, uncles, and cousins I want you to meet, and who will want to meet you."

'_The __**rest**__ of the family_?' he thought, turning pale. Erik opening his mouth to refuse, but the sight of Aria's pleading brown eyes stilled his tongue. He could, after all, deny her nothing. Besides, he did want a family of his own, and he never was one to turn down an opportunity such as this.

* * *

AN: Erik's off to England to meet more of his family! Please review! Thanks! 


	28. A New Life in England

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: This is the longest I've ever written, and I hope everyone enjoys it. Next is a (long) epilogue, and then that's it for the tale of Erik and Aria. I hope that people will leave a review and let me know what they think of the chapter. Thanks, and keep an eye out for the next story!

**Chapter 28: A New Life in England:**

Chewing his lower lip, Erik felt ready to leap out of his seat and off of the train in a panic. The only thing keeping him in their private sleeping cabin was Aria's grip on his hand. His wife could easily see that their journey north was affecting him badly, and she was doing everything in her power to ease his mind. They were half-way to their destination, the train all set to arrive at the northern coast of France within the next hour.

Of course, the journey had not been an easy one. Erik had done his best to make it the most comfortable voyage for both him and Aria, but the fact that he was actually leaving the Opera House, which had been his sanctuary for most of his life, was difficult for him. Being around people was something he disliked with a passion, and it was only because of Aria's soothing words and her clever abilities in distracting him that he made the effort to leave for England in the first place.

* * *

The morning after Aria decided she wanted him to meet her family, Erik began to think of ways to escape the voyage north. However, Aria could see right through him and his excuses to remain in Paris, and in an effort to sooth his frazzled nerves, she began suggesting ways to make the trip easier. Since they were going to take a train for half the journey, she recommended that they get a private sleeping cabin in a railcar. The same could be done on the ship they would take across the English Channel, and a carriage would doubtlessly be waiting for them when they set foot in London's port, so Erik need not worry about someone seeing him, if he didn't want them to. 

Seeing that he wasn't going to be able to slip his way out of this, Erik reluctantly agreed to go to London. Aria, of course, was thrilled, and immediately began packing, though they would not be leaving for several weeks. In the mean time, much had to be done before they could leave, and Aria meeting Nadir was one of them.

Three days after their marriage, Erik felt compelled to introduce his new bride to the Persian. He had decided on a surprise visit to the older man, and when Darius opened the door to find Erik and a young lady on the doorstep, the servant had practically run to tell his master the news. After leading Aria into the recently vacated entry hall and removing their cloaks, Erik found himself wrapped in a gripping hug. Beside him, Aria had burst into giggles as Nadir hugged the air right out of his lungs.

When Nadir finally released him, the three went into the parlor to enjoy tea and a cup of light mint custard. As he sipped his tea, Erik watched in amusement as Aria began pressing questions on Nadir, asking about the Persian's homeland and wanting to know all about their customs and culture. Sharing a look with his friend, Erik knew that Nadir approved of his choice for a wife.

"Not only is she a lovely woman, but she's just that: a _woman_," Nadir told him when Aria went to tidy her hair. "She is intelligent, charming, and desires to broaden her knowledge about the world."

"She loves art, music, and literature as well," Erik said, grinning at Nadir's quirked eyebrows. "She is my match, Nadir. Christine was a child in a fair angel's body; Aria is a woman who is my muse, my inspiration, and I will never let her go."

Nadir only had time to nod before Aria returned. They proceeded to talk about the Renaults heading to England in a few weeks, and Nadir was eager to be of help to them. He would be sure that Erik had the privacy he desired, and that the couple would travel in comfort and style all the way to England. In the meantime, they would have to wait while the arrangements were being made.

The waiting left Erik feeling rather fidgety, but was distracted from his discomfort when Aria began checking to see what sort of clothes they needed to take with them. Erik thought that bringing a few shirts, cravats, vests, pants and shoes (which equaled a small trunk load) would be enough, but Aria wouldn't have it. She insisted that he would need clothes that were appropriate for certain occasions, including casual clothes for an evening at home with her family, and clothes to go horseback riding and socializing in. All of this was in addition to the elegant eveningwear that he planned to take.

In turn, Erik thought that Aria might as well take her entire wardrobe with her, since she was packing so much. In fact, she spent most of her day deciding which gowns she was going to take, and it drove him mad. Aria insisted that she needed gowns for walking, for riding, for tea parties and for formal evening gatherings, as well as the shoes and other accessories that went with them. When she was finally finished, there were three trunks loaded with everything she had decided to take with her to England, as well as a small personal bag filled with things every woman needs to have with her.

Thankfully, Erik would not have to carry any of it himself, which was why he allowed his satisfied wife to take so much. There would be people at the train platforms and at the docks to load and unload the luggage, so Erik really had nothing to worry about when it came to their belongings. However, that feeling of liberation was fleeting, for he couldn't help but remember that he was meeting his new family in but a few weeks, and that left him feeling panicked once more.

* * *

As the train pulled into the station, Erik felt his stomach flip. Thus far, he had managed to avoid showing his face to anyone besides his wife and new in-laws. Bidding his father and uncle-in-law goodbye had been simple because they were now his family and had accepted him; facing the world, however, was another matter entirely! 

Their departure from Paris had been at night, when the streets were deserted. With Erik wearing his black mask and dark clothes, no one could see who he was or what his face looked like. He had quickly boarded the train when no one was looking, and was able to find the private cabin that he and Aria would share without help from a conductor. There he settled down to wait (impatiently) for his wife to arrive and help sooth his frazzled nerves.

Aria arrived a few minutes after he had settled in, having said a prolonged farewell to her father and bearing a bundle of letters to her family from both her father and uncle. After shutting and locking the door, Aria had sat down beside him, her hand slipping into his in order to give him comfort. He had accepted it, and when the dinner hour came, Aria went to the door and ordered it there instead of letting the server inside. Aria also took the dinner tray and brought it in when it arrived, placing it on the small table there after kicking the door shut behind her with her foot.

Erik had eaten his supper without tasting it, so nervous had he been. When the meal was over, Aria set the tray outside for a passing server to pick up and rejoined him on the red velvet seat, her head dropping to rest on his shoulder as they both looked out the window. Her gesture was comforting, and the feel of Aria's head on his shoulder and her hand on his arm calmed him into sleep.

Their arrival in the coastal train station hadn't been too bad, as they had arrived at dusk the next day. Since darkness was his element, Erik was content to leave the train and get into the awaiting carriage, heading straight for the docks and the hotel that he and Aria would be staying at for the evening. As he fell asleep in the hotel by the sea, Erik made a note to thank Nadir profusely, as the Persian had proved himself invaluable in making the travel arrangements. Nadir had apparently done his best to arrange the trip so that Erik arrived at his destinations during the night or when it was getting dark, just so he would not have to show his face before he was ready. In fact, the ship to England had left at such an early hour; it was pre-dawn when they started boarding. Once again, Erik managed to slip aboard the ship with no one noticing his hood was up, or that he wore a white mask on his face.

Now, however, they were pulling into the London port, and it was broad daylight. There would be no waiting until dark this time. Hidden inside their cabin, Erik swallowed hard. The crewmen would make sure that the last passenger departed from the ship as soon as possible, for the vessel was due for some maintenance and had to be cleared of non-employees. He had better get off with the crowd. Aria was standing beside, her belongings in one hand while the other touched his shoulder.

"Come along, Erik," she said, a smile on her lips. "We must go, preferably _before_ they send someone to throw us off!"

Sighing, Erik checked to make sure his white mask was in place. Only then did he allow his wife to take his arm and pull him out of the cabin and up to the deck. Today he was wearing what he considered a rather 'bright' outfit; instead of the usual dark vest, cloak and cravat, Erik sported a dark green coat that Aria had picked out for him, as well as an emerald green vest with gold thread shot through it and gold buttons along the front. Only his pants, gloves and shoes were black.

Wincing as he stepped into the sunlight, Erik inhaled the salty sea air. He hadn't bothered to take a breath of it when he'd first come aboard, for he had immediately hidden himself in their cabin for the voyage, just to avoid contact with anyone. This was his first breath of during their entire journey, and he relished it, closing his eyes and letting the wind comb through his hair.

Beside him, Erik could feel Aria thread her arm through his, her free hand gently stroking his bicep. Opening his eyes, Erik was relieved to see that most of the passengers were along the railing, watching the ship pull into the harbor or looking for family or friends on the dock. A sparse few looked over at him in curiosity, but when they saw Aria there beside him, they smiled.

One old woman in an elegant maroon outfit (complete with a large matching feathered hat) stopped in front of them. "Newlyweds?" she asked with a smile.

"Why, yes," Erik replied, breaking his private oath to not speak to anyone unless necessary. "How did you know?"

The woman waved a white gloved hand at them. "I remember being that way with my husband after we married," she said with a grin. "It's quite clear that you love each other very much. Take good care of one another, and never go to sleep angry; it doesn't do either one of you any good if you do."

Erik stared after the woman in surprise, though he could clearly hear Aria giggling beside him. Turning his head, he asked, "May I ask what is so amusing to you, Madame Renault?"

Aria shook her head, a broad smile on her face. "Nothing," she chimed in an amused voice. "It's just that…well, it sounded like something my grandmother would say to us."

Sighing, Erik led his wife to the railing to watch the ship dock.

* * *

I was thrilled to be back in England. Paris had been wonderful, but to me, England would always be home. The docking of the ship had been fascinating to watch, and to my relief (as well as Erik's), no one really noticed the mask on my husband's face. Everyone was too busy looking for whoever would be greeting them on the docks, and there were quite a few servants standing there as well, ready to lead their charge to a waiting carriage. I was certain that one of them had been sent by Grandmamma, so I began engaging the help of a porter to help with the luggage. 

It was a good thing I did; after the gangplank had settled onto the wooden planks of the dock, the ship was a buzz of activity and it was nearly impossible to get help in leaving the ship. Erik was desperate to get off, and so he managed to gently and carefully guide me to the gangplank and down to the harbor. I then spotted a pair of servants in russet-red uniforms, and knew they were from my grandmother.

"Erik, over there!" I said, trying to speak above the noise of the crowd.

He looked and nodded, his hand clutching mine as he pulled me towards the servants. The two men bowed politely, though their eyes lingered a moment on Erik's face. Without a word, one of them went onto the ship and began to question about our luggage while the other motioned towards the carriage, indicating that we should get inside to avoid the pressure and noise of the crowd. Erik didn't hesitate; he merely walked us to the vehicle, opened the door and handed me inside before following.

Half an hour later, we were riding through the London streets, the curtains pulled around the windows so that we could see out, but no one could see in. To my pleasure, Grandmamma had ordered her finest carriage to bring us to her, and although it was solid brown on the outside, the interior was lush and comfortable. The seats were a soft cloth that would not stick to or prickle the passengers during the ride, and there were hidden vents in it to allow fresh air in when they were opened.

I turned my head to see Erik staring out the window, a deep frown on his face. Knowing what was troubling him, I leaned to place my head on his shoulder, my hand reaching to grasp his. He had removed his gloves after we had entered the carriage, so I was able to touch warm skin instead of leather. I smiled as he began to squeeze my fingers.

"Relax," I whispered, tilting my head so that my words reached his ear. "They will love you as much as I do. You have nothing to worry about. Even the servants didn't mind your mask, and you know that they tend to stare at anything that is unusual!"

Erik sighed and rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand. "I know, Angel," he replied, his voice soft as he spoke. "But I am still unsure as to whether your family will accept me for what I look like and who I really am."

My free hand reached over to gently rub up and down his arm. "It will be fine," I whispered. "Now, do you want to talk about something during the ride to my grandmother's estate, or would you like to try and sleep? You've hardly slept these past few days, and I think you're overdue for some rest."

"I doubt I'll be able to rest much, since the carriage is likely to be jolting back and forth on the road," Erik muttered as he leaned back on the seat and closed his eyes. "You will wake me when we stop?"

"Yes, I will," I promised with a smile as he drifted off to sleep.

However, Erik didn't know that we would not be stopping until we actually reached my grandparents' estate, which would be one of their country houses. Upon our arrival, we would eat a small meal in our rooms, rest for an hour or two, then go downstairs for Erik to meet the rest of the family. I could hardly wait for _that_ event.

* * *

When Erik awoke, it was to blackness. Letting his eyes adjust, he realized it was because the curtains were shut tightly against the sunlight that was supposed to come through the glass window. A heavy weight was on his shoulder, and he could see that Aria was fast asleep, her hand still holding his. Smiling, Erik raised his free hand to take a peek out the curtained window. It was sunset, and his stomach told him it was time for supper. 

Suddenly, the carriage began to slow and pull off of the main road, heading down a small track. Soon, the surrounding countryside was briefly cut off from his view by a stone wall. Then, into his line of sight came a beautiful green lawn that seemed to stretch on for miles. Here the grass was a rich emerald green, and the edges were neatly trimmed with planted flowers of a dozen different colors. Erik watched, wide-eyed, as the carriage rolled past a large stone fountain spouting clear water into the huge basin, the falling droplets creating a soothing rhythm to his ears.

Moments later, the carriage rolled to a stop, and through the air came the coachman's voice. "Sir, Madame, we've arrived."

Aria woke with a start, her body sitting bolt upright on the seat, her eyes widening as her hands flew to her hair. "Oh, no! Oh, I can't face Grandmother with my hair looking like a bird's nest!"

Erik felt his lips twitch. "You look lovely like always, my love," he said, grasping her hands and pulling them away from her head.

At that moment, the door to the carriage opened and Erik looked up and out to see the grandest house he had ever seen. Marble, brick, and pure white stone created the masterpiece that was the home of Aria's grandparents, Gino and Caroline Craven. The house was three levels high, and there were three long marble steps leading up to the monumental, pure white Grecian columns at the front of the building. Brick created the main parts of the house, and white stone trimmed the edges, making it elegant and sturdy. It was a work of art in and of itself, which Erik found fascinating.

"Grandmother wanted a more modern home, so she ordered the old drafty place torn down and this one built in its place," Aria whispered as she stepped out of the carriage and took his arm. "Grandfather heartily agreed, as the old house was falling apart and everything needed to be fixed, so he thought he would spend the money and create a newer, better home."

"Hmm," was all Erik could say as the headed towards the steps.

There in the doorway stood a small woman dressed in dark blue, her silver-blonde hair carefully curled and pulled up to a bundle at the top of her head. There were wrinkles across her face, but she wore them well and with pride, the strength of her spirit shining through the well-aged exterior. Beside her stood a man easily her age, his dark hair fading to grey and white. He, too, wore dark blue, and looked as proud and dignified as his wife.

"Grandfather! Grandmother!" Aria said as they stopped before the older couple, greeting them with a kiss on their cheeks.

"Aria." The greeting made by Gino Craven was short, but said in such a soft and affectionate voice that it was clear how much the old man loved his granddaughter. A soft smile was on his lips as he reached out and took her hands in his.

"Darling, it's so good to see you," declared Caroline Craven as Aria was released by her grandfather and embraced by her grandmother. "Now, come inside before it gets dark, and you can introduce us to this new husband of yours."

Blushing, Erik followed the older couple inside, Aria on his arm and a heavy sense of dread in his heart. Would the Cravens accept him as their new grandson, or would they throw him out of their home in disgrace? Swallowing hard, Erik walked into a beautiful parlor, his eyes widening at the sight of so much elegance and wealth.

Blue velvet chairs and couches, elegantly carved wooden tables, expensive china vases on the fireplace's black marble mantle met his eyes. The walls were covered in shimmering silvery-blue wallpaper that cast the room in soft pale light. It was an exquisite room with everything made of the finest materials, and Erik took note of everything, hoping to one day replicate it in a house he hoped to one day share with Aria. Well, except for the unusual amount of furniture there was in the room; there seemed to be an abnormal abundance of couches and chairs in here, and he couldn't understand why.

He took a seat on a couch beside his wife while the grandmother ordered tea for her and Aria, and alcoholic drinks for the men. The service was swift, and Erik suspected that the servants had long had a tray of refreshments waiting, probably since early this afternoon. The drinks were brought in quickly, and a moment later a tray of cakes and sandwiches followed. Erik's stomach rumbled, reminding him that lunch had been missed and breakfast had been ages ago.

Blushing, Erik helped himself to a sandwich while "grandmother" looked at him in amusement. The older woman had seated herself in an elegant ebony chair with blue cushions, and beside her sat her husband in a matching chair. The two were looking back and forth between the newlyweds, watching carefully as Aria leaned close to his ear and whispered which pastries were her favorites and why. Since Erik was unaccustomed to a "proper English tea", he followed Aria's preferences and chose his food according to her descriptions of what was inside them.

As he consumed his tea cakes and sandwiches, Erik listened as Caroline Craven asked Aria what had happened during her stay in Paris. "All your father would say in his letters to me was that you were having a good time and fitting in well with the ballerinas and chorus girls there," Caroline said in a disbelieving tone. "Of course, your Grandfather and I know how silly and stupid the dancers can be, so I knew he was lying."

"Besides, a girl of your intelligence would never be satisfied with the topics of conversation those girls are so fond of," continued Grandfather Craven in his soft, patient voice.

Erik had decided that, given that the old man was far more patient and kindly than his wife, he would be more than happy to call Gino Craven "grandfather." Besides, Grandfather Craven had an understanding gleam in his eyes every time he looked Erik's way, and that made him feel more comfortable in the old man's presence.

Beside him, Aria sighed and leaned back, causing him to wince. She would have to tell them the truth of what happened; it was clear that Caroline Craven knew her granddaughter well, and could easily tell if Aria were lying to her. If Aria wasn't truthful with them now, then they would not accept Erik later. Exchanging glances with his wife, Erik nodded, giving Aria silent permission to tell the truth.

* * *

The tale of Erik's life was a lengthy one, and by the time I finished it with the details of our secret wedding, dinner was announced, giving my grandparents no time to comment. We all silently stood and walked towards the smaller dining hall, which was for more intimate meals with a small number of guests. Erik and I were seated next to one another, and my grandfather was seated at the head with Grandmother on his left. 

The meal seemed to drag on forever. There was a bit of polite talk to fill the silence, and I was glad that most of the questions or comments were directed at me so that I could distract attention from Erik. Thankfully, my grandparents would not wish to discuss sensitive matters before the servants, which was why I was currently the focus of their attention.

After the dishes had been cleared away, and once the coffee and dessert had been served and consumed, we went back to the Blue Parlor, one of my favorite rooms in Grandmamma and Grandfather's house. We settled back into our seats and I took Erik's hand in mine, the two of us bracing ourselves for whatever came next.

"So, Monsieur Renault," Grandmother began, her blue-grey eyes focused on Erik. "You are actually the legendary Phantom of the Opera I have heard to much about. That certainly does explain a great deal about your actions concerning my granddaughter."

I felt Erik's hand tighten around mine, meaning that he was either angry or frightened at her words. "Grandmother, you aren't going to tell anyone about this, are you?" I asked, my voice pleading. "Please, we don't want any trouble to be caused because of who Erik was in the past."

To my relief, she waved a gloved hand at me. "Don't be silly, dearest," Grandmother said. "I have no intention of revealing your husband's true identity to the public. If, or when, he chooses to do so will be of his own accord, not mine."

Erik's hand slackened just a little, obviously relieved. However, that did not last long.

"Of course, I am most concerned about _you_, Aria," Grandmother went on, her eyes narrowing as she focused on us. "I worry for where you shall live now that you are married. Do you intend to dwell beneath the Opera Populaire for the rest of your lives? I hardly think that will be a good place for you and your health, especially when it is so dark and cold underground."

Surprisingly, Erik replied before I did. "I have no intention of keeping Aria down in the caverns," he said. "Actually, I had thought to employ a friend of mine into looking for a house in Paris for the two of us."

I looked at him, my jaw open in surprise. "Erik, why didn't you tell me?" I gasped.

He shrugged. "I know that you cannot live without the sun, my love," he said, clasping my hands in his. "Besides, I would like to live someplace that is not so dark, as it no longer suits me."

Smiling, I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "If we get a house, you will have to decorate it with your work. I want the walls filled with your paintings and the tables littered with your statues."

"You are an artist?" Grandfather asked, leaning forward in interest.

Grandmother also perked up in her seat. "You paint and sculpt?" she demanded. "Are you any good at it? If so, you will have to show me."

Knowing that art was her weakness, I grinned. "Yes, he paints and does sculptures," I replied. "He also composes music and draws exceptionally well. He is a great artist."

With that, Grandmother was off, pressing questions to Erik about his technique and style, asking if he would be willing to teach her other grandchildren to draw, paint, or play music. Erik, startled at her sudden warmth to him, stuttered replies that he would be glad to do whatever he could to help. This went on for hours, and when we went upstairs to rest for the night, I could see that Erik's head was still whirling from shock.

"Aria, is your grandmother always like this when it comes to art and her family?" he asked as we prepared for bed.

I chuckled and settled down underneath the white sheets of the bed. "If you think she is bad, I can hardly wait for you to meet the rest of the family," I smiled, laying down and rolling away from him as he joined me.

"The rest of the family?" he groaned as he lay beside me and put an arm around my waist. "Why do I have a bad feeling about _that_?"

Smiling, I kept silent and closed my eyes to sleep.

* * *

The next morning found Erik pacing the floor of the Blue Parlor, his stomach tied in complicated knots. Listening to the sounds of a dozen carriages rolling up the drive, he began to panic. He hadn't believed Aria when she'd told him how many aunts, uncles, and cousins she had, believing it to be a joke she was playing to frighten him. Now he wished he had taken her seriously. 

"Erik, stop fussing!" Aria said, walking through the doors of the parlor to join him by the large window. Reaching up, she began to straighten his cravat. "Hold still and calm down before you pace a hole in the floor."

"Calm down?" he asked, incredulous. "How can I calm down when an army of people are approaching this place to meet me?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Erik, these are all people who are very dear to me and will support me no matter what my choices are," she replied with a smile. "Now, take a deep breath, calm yourself, and be prepared for when-"

Aria never got to finish her sentence, because at that moment, a flood of men, women, and children flowed through the front door, practically overwhelming the servants standing there waiting to accept articles of clothing that were not wanted. Apparently the servants were accustomed to such a large gathering, for they easily juggled the numerous bonnets, hats, coats, shawls, canes and parasols being thrust at them. Children with toys in their hands flowed into a back room that must serve as a nursery, and the young adults and their parents entered the parlor. When they saw Aria standing there beside him, Erik saw them pause and grow quiet.

From her spot on his right, Aria cleared her throat. "Hello, everyone," she said in a cheerful voice. "I'd like you all to meet my husband, Erik Renault."

There was a brief moment of silence before the dam broke, and when it did, Erik found himself attacked by well-wishing aunts and uncles. His shoulders, arms, and hands were soon sore from the amount of congratulatory handshakes, pats on the arms, and slaps on the back. To his astonishment, a few of the aunts pressed kisses to his bare cheek and welcomed him to the family before taking their seats in the parlor. It was all so new, this overwhelming warmth and acceptance. This immense group of warm, kind people had accepted him without question, all because he had married a woman who was raised to be just like them.

He felt a familiar touch on his hand, and looking to his right, he saw a beaming Aria. "Well, what do you think?" she whispered while pulling him towards a pair of empty spots on a couch.

Now Erik understood why there had been a need for so many chairs and couches in the Blue Parlor. Many of the couples preferred to sit next to each other, and when all of the couches were full, Erik saw that chairs had been put together so that a husband or wife could sit next to their spouse. In the mean time, Erik saw that the young adults, too big for the nursery and too young to be left alone without supervision, had all taken seats on small stools that were near their parents, or close to a cousin they felt more inclined to talk to.

Tea was served, and soon Erik found his mind challenged to try and see who was talking about what. Several of the adults were talking about possibly going to the opera in a few days, and a few others were talking about painting a mural in the dining room of one of the aunts' houses. Both conversations interested him, as he longed to see what the London Opera House had to offer, but he also was curious as to what one of the aunts was going to have painted in her home. Trapped between the two conversations, he looked to Aria for help.

Leaning over, she whispered, "Grandmamma and Grandfather have box seats in the London Theater, since they spend a great deal of time at their house in the city. We will most certainly be able to attend the opera while we are here, so you needn't worry about it. Oh, but listen to what they are saying about Aunt Mary's dining room!"

Aria giggled softly into his ear, which delighted him. "Apparently, she wants to put nude dancing muses there! Could you imagine the looks on people's faces when they come to her home for dinner? The other aunts will do their best to talk her out of it, just you watch."

Sure enough, several ladies were trying to dissuade their sister from making such a taboo mistake. One of them, a pretty little blonde woman, looked over at Erik and, with a mischievous gleam in her eye, said, "What do you think of my sister's ideas for her home, Monsieur Renault?"

Caught off guard, Erik opened his mouth to try to reply. Just then, however, a blonde little girl raced into the room. A doll was clutched to her chest, and there was an excited spark in her blue eyes as she searched the room. Upon spotting Aria, the child let out a squeal of delight and threw herself across the room, her arms outstretched towards what was obviously her cousin. Laughing, Aria threw out her arms and caught the little girl in a warm hug.

Seeing Aria pick the girl up and put her in her lap, Erik felt something stir inside him. A voice was telling him that he was missing something in his life, and that the answer to it was right here in the form of this little blonde-haired girl. What it was, Erik didn't know, but he had no time to figure it out, for at that moment the child turned her head and looked at him.

"Who are you?" she asked, her tiny voice betraying no sign of fear of him.

"This is my husband, Erik," Aria said to her. "Erik, this is my little cousin, Grace."

He had never had the experience of speaking to a child before. For most of his life, children had always screamed and run away in terror whenever they saw him, or threw stones at his head and called him horrible names because of what he looked like. Little Grace, however, stared at him with innocent, sweet blue eyes and gave him a smile.

"Are you our new cousin?" she asked, blinking up at him.

Erik nodded, though a bit stiffly. "Yes, I am," he replied, wondering if this would be enough of an answer. Hopefully she would not start asking questions at this point…

"You're very tall," Grace said, childishly blunt and innocent of her rudeness.

"Grace!" gasped the blonde woman who had asked for Erik's artistic opinion. "Mind your manners!"

Erik felt his mouth twitch in amusement. "Thank you," he said, smiling just a little. "I believe I shall take that as a compliment."

Glancing between the child and the blonde woman, he realized whom the little girl must belong to. According to the family tree that Aria had made for him to memorize this morning, the blonde woman had to be Aria's Aunt Nancy, and Grace was her daughter. The smile presented to him by the woman confirmed it, as it was identical to the one that Grace was giving him right now.

To his shock, Grace slipped out of Aria's grasp and slid over the couch, traveling the short distance from her cousin's lap to his own! Staring down at the girl, Erik swallowed uncomfortably as Grace settled in his lap, her doll tucked under her arm as she looked up at him. It took all of Erik's will power not to squeak in surprise at this new experience.

"Do you like my doll?" Grace asked, holding it up for him to see.

The doll was a replica of Grace herself, everything from the blonde hair to the blue eyes crafted to perfection. It was a beautiful doll, and Erik made sure to say so.

Grace sighed. "It's not my favorite, though," she said, pouting slightly. "I had to leave my Princess Melody doll at home because I don't want to get it dirty. She's my favorite, because Aria's the one who gave Melody to me for my birthday."

As Grace began to babble on about her doll, all conversation around the room, which had dimmed upon the entrance of the little girl, started up once more. With the air full of warm and loving conversation, Erik turned and looked over at Aria, whose eyes were filled with a soft mothering look that he had never seen before. When her warm brown eyes went to meet his, Erik realized that she wanted the same thing he did. And that meant the world to him.

* * *

After Grace's acceptance of Erik, the rest of my cousins took a quick liking to my dear masked husband. Dinner was, as usual, a rather chaotic event, but it went rather smoothly. I imagined that everyone wanted to put on a good first impression for Erik, and for that I was grateful; the poor man already looked rather stunned and overwhelmed, so a nice meal was a good way to end the day. 

As my aunts and uncles were leaving, all of them stopped to tell me how much they liked Erik and that they hoped that I would be very happy for many years to come. Since most of them had introduced themselves to him over the course of the day (so as not to overwhelm him), I knew that my family had seen the good, brilliant man he was. Erik had made a good impression, and was accepted.

When we had climbed into bed and settled under the covers, Erik's arms wrapped around me as we lay on our backs, my head tucked under his chin as my head lay on his chest. Then, just as I was falling asleep, Erik said something in a drowsy voice that sounded on the bridge of sleep.

"Angel, I was thinking…perhaps we should move here to England to start our own family."

Shocked into wakefulness, I listened for more, but heard only the sounds of Erik's deep breathing, meaning he was already asleep. A family? Erik wanted children? And he wanted to raise them in England? Instantly, my mind filled with endless possibilities, drifting from one scenario to another until it finally relaxed and let me drift into peaceful slumber.

* * *

AN: Wow, huge chapter! Please review and let me know what you thought! Only an epilogue left! 


	29. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom of the Opera. (looks around) Erik, get back in the closet before someone finds you! (looks back at readers) Nope, don't own Erik at all…

AN: This is it, the last chapter! I hope that everyone enjoyed the story, and will stick around for my next one! Thanks so much for the reviews and private messages; I really appreciate all of the feedback you've given me. You all make my day, and help me to write for your reading pleasure. Thanks again, and I hope to see you at the next story!

**Epilogue: Ten Years Later:**

"Adrianna, Edmund, don't run in the house!" I called to my children.

The pitter-patter of their little feet halted immediately, then picked up again, though a bit slower this time. Shaking my head with a sigh, I couldn't hold back the tiny laugh that escaped my mouth. Children are only young once, but if Eddy broke another vase, there would be hell to pay.

Looking at the book in my lap, I couldn't help but remember the day Erik had announced that he wanted to move to England. I had been thrilled, of course, and when I had told my grandmother the news, she had immediately come up with a plan for us. As an unexpected wedding gift to me and Erik, my grandparents decided to give us one of their homes out in the countryside.

Needless to say, Erik and I had been shocked, though me especially, since I recognized the property being offered. It was a large home of nearly three levels, though most of the third level space was to accommodate the ground floor ballroom. On the first floor, there were two parlors (one for private use and one for entertaining guests in), as well as two dining rooms (which had the same private and public purposes). There was also a kitchen, a library, and (to Erik's pleasure) a music room.

The second floor was, of course, made up of bedrooms, of which there were seven. The largest was for the master and mistress, and the others could be used for children or guests. There was also a section which held the servant's quarters, as well as a few tiny stairwells for the maids or butlers to use in order to quickly do their chores on the second floor.

However, what I remembered most about this house, called Rose Hall, were the rose gardens that it had behind the manor. Rose Hall had at least a dozen different varieties of roses, all carefully tended to by hardworking gardeners, and the entire property smelled like heaven during the spring and summer. There was even a small hothouse where a few bushes grew, just so the interior of the house could have roses decorating it all winter long.

The gift of Rose Hall to us was a shock, but once Erik managed to recover his senses, he was able to send a message to Nadir. In the note, Erik explained that we were going to remain in England, and that the Persian and his servant, Darius, were free to come and visit any time they wished, once we had settled in. My husband also explained the need to have the caves under the Populaire emptied of its contents, all of which was to be neatly and carefully packed and shipped to us here in England.

"After all, I highly doubt that your grandmother will let us keep the furniture that is in there," Erik muttered as he wrote.

As it so happened, Grandmamma _did_, in fact, allow us to keep the furniture, but made sure to state that there was still plenty of room left for our own personal pieces in the house. "Besides, your Grandfather and I hardly ever stayed at Rose Hall in the past, so it really isn't that well-furnished," she said with an imperial wave of her hand. "Feel free to decorate it as you will."

This relieved Erik, as it took one thing off of his mind. The need for more furniture, however, reminded him that all of his funds would have to be transferred to England, which would take time. Much paperwork had to be filled out and/or signed by Erik, so there was a mad trail of envelopes and letters being sent between England and France for several weeks.

As Erik and I waited for our possessions and money to arrive, we remained at my grandparents' home just outside London. Erik became close to my family, and, amazingly enough, was very popular with the children. All of the little ones wanted Cousin Erik to sing them songs, teach them ventriloquism, or to make shadow puppets on the walls with a lantern in the dark. It was sometimes hard to pry them from him at the end of the day, and I could see the longing for children in Erik's eyes each time the last child disappeared out the door.

Six months later, Erik and I moved all of our newly-arrived possessions into Rose Hall, the welcoming golden brown house embracing us like a warm hug the moment we entered it. The furniture from our bedroom in Paris was moved to the master suite, replacing the original bed and wardrobes. The couch was moved to the private parlor, and Erik's organ (which Nadir had somehow managed to ship here undamaged) was set up in the music room beside the piano.

The final touch of ours was the artwork. Since it had not often been lived in, Rose Hall severely lacked any artistic touch. Besides the warm color of the hallways, there were no real paintings or decorations anywhere. Erik quickly remedied that, putting the busts of famous composers in his music room and in the entry hall so that people knew a composer and music-lover dwelled here. Paintings of flowers, houses, and Greek or Roman gods and goddesses were hung about the walls, giving the house a feeling of artistic atmosphere.

Our home finally furnished and decorated with our own things, Erik and I were able to fully settle down into our new house. The timing was perfect, for it was during our third month of living in Rose Hall that I discovered that I was with child.

"Adrianna, give it back!" yelled Erik, his voice carrying into the library.

I chuckled. Our 9-year-old daughter loved to test her abilities at frustrating her father and five-year-old brother, though she knew better than to try anything with _me_. Erik sometimes claims that I can be as intimidating as my Grandmamma, when the need arises. This was one of those cases, so I set aside my book and went in search of my mischievous daughter. Fortunately, I did not have to look very far, as she was running past the library as I was coming out of it.

"Adrianna, you give your father back whatever it is you took," I said firmly, stopping her in her tracks. "You have caused enough trouble today as it is."

Addie nodded her head and turned back to the music room, her hands clutched tightly around the roll of paper she had taken. I heard Erik scold her, which was followed by her apology. A moment later, she was being scooted out of the room, the door closing and locking behind her.

"Addie, why don't you go play with your brother?" I said. "Papa's busy writing another opera, and I have some reading I would like to do."

Again she nodded, and then ran upstairs to the playroom she shared with Edmund. Erik and I had been forced to convert one of the guest rooms into a nursery, as the house didn't have one, but it was no loss. None of my family members stayed here for long when they visited, mostly because all of them lived only an hour's carriage ride away. In fact, some of the guest rooms were no longer bedrooms any longer; two of them had become Erik's craft rooms, which were his safe-havens away from the children. There he could craft sculptures or paint without the children interrupting him.

However, before I could return to the library, our butler, Thomas, intercepted me. "Mrs. Renault, you have visitors."

Thomas was a tall, dignified man with white hair, and had come with the house (as did all our other servants). Although he looked rather snobbish, Thomas was a kind man who was married to the round and cheerful Hilda, who was in charge of the cooking and the kitchen of Rose Hall.

"Who is it, Thomas?" I asked, puzzled, as we were not expecting any of our friends from London, nor any of my family members.

"A Mr. and Mrs. De Chagny," Thomas replied.

My heart sank. They had found the nerve to visit us at last, though I should not have been surprised.

Years ago, when Adrianna had turned five and when Edmund was a year old, Erik had decided to try and present some of his opera compositions to the London Opera House. There he had met with great success, and with that success came the need to purchase a London house, where we had been obliged to spend a social season or two a year, meeting and mingling with numerous people who all wanted to become friends with the up-and-coming composer, Erik Renault.

But Erik, thanks to his many years of watching the Populaire's employees' dirty dealings, could smell a false friend instantly, so a great deal of the snobbish aristocracy were merely kept as polite acquaintances. Anyone with true interest in music and/or art was let into the close circle of friends that Erik and I already had, most having been introduced to us through my family members. And since gossip is part of having friends, it shouldn't surprise me that word of a masked French composer in England drifted back to Paris, where most of our friends had their summer homes.

As it so happened, one of our friends was acquainted with Christine and Raoul de Chagny, and when the Count and Countess learned where Erik was, they immediately asked our friend to take a letter to England, a letter which bore my name on the front. I had received the message with a sense of annoyance, knowing what it said before I even opened it.

Inside was a plea from both Christine and Raoul, begging me to "leave that monster while I still could." I had written a carefully worded reply, keeping it as polite as I could while telling of my love and devotion to my husband. I then told the de Chagnys that, if they all they wished to discuss in every letter they sent to me was my marriage to Erik, then they could save their paper and ink. After that, the letters came a few more times, all of them through the friends I shared with the Count and Countess, but after two years, they stopped. Now, four years, later we had been without word from the de Chagnys, and it had been a peace that I'd hoped would never end.

'_Apparently they now want to try the face-to-face approach_.' I groaned inwardly while signaling Thomas to let our guests in. I quickly went into the parlor meant for entertaining guests, which overlooked the rose garden in the back of the house, and stood before one of the couches.

I had barely taken my place when my guests were shown in. Christine was lovely, as always, with her curls and fair skin set off nicely by the blue gown she wore. Raoul had his chin-length blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wore a blue coat over a white shirt and black pants. I gave them a polite nod and rang the bell for tea and refreshments before taking a seat, the Count and Countess automatically taking the couch across from me.

Tea was served by one of the maids, and I poured and served it according to the desires of my guests. Several moments of silence and awkward glances passed between myself and the de Chagnys, and after most of my cup was emptied, I decided to be straightforward. Besides, I did not want Erik or the children to see them here.

"Please forgive my boldness, Monsieur and Madame, but I would like to know why you are here," I said while pouring more tea into my cup. "If you are here to warn me again about how my husband will murder me in my sleep, you have wasted your time and money coming here, for I will not listen to such nonsense from you again."

Christine answered before her husband did. "We are merely worried for you. Surely it is not so wrong of us to feel concern for you."

I sighed and set the tea pot down rather roughly. "Madame Countess, how many times must I tell you that I am not going to leave my husband for what he did in the past? Erik has been able to start his life over here in England, and you have no idea how long he has prayed for such a gift. We have a wonderful life together, and we are happy, _so please just leave us be_!"

"But-"

Whatever Christine had to say was cut off by the shouts of my children. The door, which had been left partially open by the maid, now flew completely open as my son and daughter raced in, Edmund chasing Adrianna in an obvious game of "chase". Silently thanking God for the interruption, I held my arms out to Addie, who immediately launched herself into the safe haven they provided. Edmund stopped in his tracks, a pout on his lower lip.

I smiled. "Shame on the two of you, interrupting Mummy as she's entertaining guests!" I scolded in a playful tone of voice. "Now, stand straight and say 'hello' to the Count and Countess de Changy, as they have come all the way from Paris to see us."

As Adrianna and Edmund remembered their manners and bowed/curtseyed to our guests, I could see the stunned looks written on Christine and Raoul's faces. They could see how much my children had taken after their father, sans his facial deformity. Both my son and daughter had their father's nearly-black hair, as well as his green eyes and facial shape. However, Adrianna's face was softer and more delicate, while Edmund would no doubt be the exact image of his father when he grew up.

"Very good," I said after my children had risen from their bow and curtsey. "Now, run along and finish your letters to Great-Grandmamma. You know how much she likes getting them."

Obedient as always, Adrianna grabbed Edmund by the hand and dragged him up to their nursery, the de Chagnys and I watching as they left and shut the door quietly behind them. Relieved at the unintended (but much welcomed) intrusion, I turned once more to face my guests. The shock on the de Changys' faces hadn't diminished, and if I had not already been so frustrated by their visit, the looks on their faces would have been amusing. As it was, I barely had my civil manners in hand, and no longer wished for them to be in my house.

"Will that be all, Monsieur and Madame de Chagny?" I asked, my voice still polite in tone. If it had not been for my grandmother's lessons in propriety, I would have rudely told them to leave right then and there.

Christine looked at the door with what appeared to longing and envy. "They are beautiful children," she whispered. "You are fortunate to have them so good and so well-behaved."

I barely managed to hide my surprise at her comments, though my pride in my children clearly showed. "Thank you, Countess," I said. "That is kind of you to say."

Raoul cleared his throat. "Well, it appears that we have made a wasted trip out here to the countryside," he declared; I could clearly hear the note of complaint in his voice. "Come, Christine, we still have much to do in London before we return to Paris."

The two quickly stood from the couch and Christine put her hand in her husband's as he swiftly led her out the door. Their cloaks were soon wrapped around their shoulders, but the moment that their carriage arrived, I realized that I had something to say to the Countess.

"Monsieur, I would like to speak privately with your wife, if I may. It will not take long."

He nodded to his wife, gave me a polite bow of farewell, then turned and walked out the front door towards the carriage. Left alone with the Countess, I gave her my full attention.

"Christine, I saw the look you gave my children," I said accusingly. "I also know what it meant." She paled, but I ignored that. "I think that you actually wish that you _had_ accepted Erik fifteen years ago, when you were first down in the cellar with him!" My eyes narrowed. "It's true, isn't it? You envy me for marrying Erik and having his children!"

Her eyes darkened slightly. "I was foolish back then," she admitted with reluctance. "I was young and did not understand what he wanted or what he was offering me. It was only after I'd married Raoul that I realized that the love I shared with him was a pale golden love compared to the fiery, passionate one that I had been offered.

"The minute I saw your children, I realized the future I could have had with my Angel, one with a passion that I do not have with Raoul. Erik, as you call him, awakened something inside of me, something that frightened me, and so I chose the man who could give me a safe sort of love. It wasn't until it was too late that I recognized the burning emotions in my heart for what they really were."

The Countess sighed. "I cannot, and will not, name the emotions that still flare inside me, for if I do, I might do or say something I will regret. If I could go back, perhaps I would choose differently."

I shook my head. "Erik would not let you," I flatly replied. Christine glared at me, surprised and offended. She would have spoken, had I not stopped her. "Erik would not have kept you with him, or if he had, he would have seen you are you really are: naïve and slow to realize what you want and to act upon your choices."

I waved aside her protests. "The moment I realized that I loved Erik, I recognized it for what it was, even though I did not know if he felt the same way for me. If he had not acted on his emotions first, I would have done my best to gather my courage and admit my feelings for him. It would have taken time, but it certainly wouldn't take me _fifteen years_ to admit what I felt. You missed your chance at being Erik's wife, Christine. He is mine now, and I will love him forever, just as you should have."

Without any remorse, I saw Christine's eyes fill with tears as she turned and fled for the carriage, climbing inside without bothering to let the coachman help her in. I heard Raoul's voice, possibly asking what was wrong, and Christine probably replying that she was well and to just go. I had never been so satisfied to watch someone leave in all my life.

"Pardon me, Madame," said Thomas's voice from behind me, causing me to turn and face him. "But your husband is calling for you."

"Thank you, Thomas. If you need either Mr. Renault or myself, we will be in the music room."

"Very good, Madame," he replied with a bow.

I hurried towards the music room, and once I was inside, I felt a pair of arms slide up from behind me, wrapping me in a tight, loving embrace. Warm lips pressed themselves beneath my right ear, causing me to shiver in delight. I was disappointed when they left, but when Erik spoke to me, I went cold.

"I heard what you said to Christine," he whispered.

My heart dropped. "Was I wrong?" I couldn't help asking. "If you had it to do all over again and she had chosen to stay with you, would you choose her?"

Erik's large hands gripped my shoulders and gently turned me around, the palms and fingertips slightly callused from working with crafting tools. I looked up into the loving green eyes and smiling face of my husband.

"If time spun backwards and I had the moment in the cavern to live over again, I would not choose her," he said, the honest gleam in his eyes convincing me of his truthfulness. "Although she might not know it, Christine was, and still is, naïve in her feelings for me. She truly loves her husband, but the feeling she has harbored these fifteen years is, in fact, the want for the 'forbidden.' In a word, Christine wants what she cannot have, and has mistaken it for a buried love she believes she has for me. That is false. I knew, even back then, that the love that Christine and Raoul share with each other is true, for that is what I longed to have with someone and have found with you. You need not fear me running to her at any point in the future."

"Good, because if that happened, I would run after you and hit you in the head with one of Hilda's frying pans so I could drag you back," I declared while wrapping my arms around his neck.

Erik chuckled, leaning down to press his lips to mine in a passionate kiss. A while later, we separated, breathing hard to catch our breaths. Erik's mouth hovered over mine as though to kiss me again, but he and I both knew that if he did, we would probably do something scandalous on the music room floor. To keep that from happening, Erik began a topic of conversation as he led me towards the door and then up the stairwell.

"I heard from your father today," he said as we began the ascent up to our bedroom. "Apparently he and your Uncle Gregory are retiring from the Populaire. They and Gregory's family are returning from Paris within the next few months and wish to visit."

"I'll be sure to have the guestrooms prepared by then," I said as we opened the door to our suite.

* * *

Hours later, we were in the parlor, wrapped in the beauty that was our family. Outside, an owl hooted in the tree as night descended, the darkness held at bay by the fire in the marble fireplace and the lamps on the walls. Sighing, I looked around the room in bliss. This was where I was meant to be: here, in the parlor with my husband while our children played on the rug by the fire. Christine had been a fool to run away from all of this, but if she hadn't, I would not be here in her stead. In the end, perhaps I owed her a debt of gratitude for letting both Erik and I have this chance at happiness. 

As Erik looked over at me, green eyes dancing with joy and love, I felt my heart soar. One woman's choice had nearly ruined him. Mine was the one that saved him, bringing a lost soul out of loneliness and into a world of family and acceptance. We were happy, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

AN: The end! Please review! 


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